


Rise

by ShrewdStrawberry



Category: Fable (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 109,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShrewdStrawberry/pseuds/ShrewdStrawberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world of might and myth offers many dangers, of which rogue Heroes are only one. From humble beginnings a Hero shall Rise, and his footsteps will echo through time. The clashing of nations will forge a titan and the world will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awake

Wide eyes watched as the bandit charged forward, his blade raised high and a blood curdling howl issuing from his mouth. The boy's fingers grasped at his father's corpse as he froze in place, watching certain death bear down upon him.

A sharp crack of electricity tore through the air and the bandit was thrown through the air over the boy's head, colliding violently with a nearby tree and sliding down in a heap, the stench of ozone wafting over to match that of burnt flesh.

"We must leave. It's not safe here."

Pale blue eyes look over at their rescuer in wonder, drinking in the sight with awe. A high collared purple coat, under which was a green silk sash that in turn covered golden chain mail was worn regally by a grizzled old man whose gaze shifted around the burning night, tense, as if watching for a predator. Arcane lines glowed over his skin and his eyes spoke clearly of depths of power waiting to be tapped. Lightning still danced in the palm of a hand that wore heavy fingerless gloves of chain and cloth that stretched to the elbow.

A frown appeared on the Hero's face (for what else could he be, holding lightning in his hands and dispatching one of those who had sacked and pillaged the town with nothing but a thought) as the boy flinched back from his approach. "They're all dead. You don't want to join them, do you?" the old man asked sardonically, receiving a quick head shake in response. "Then give me your hand," he ordered, stretching his left out to midway between them as the right still pulsed with sparks.

Hesitantly at first, as if waiting for his rescuer to snatch his hand back, but then with more confidence, the boy took the offered hand.

"Boy," the old man began as he looked him over critically, "what is your name?"

The boy looked at him blankly for a moment, before answering with the single syllable, "Jack."

The man snorted, although his expression didn't change as he finished his inspection. "I am Maze. Prepare yourself."

Before the young Jack could respond, blue wisps and motes of light rose about them, before they and the ethereal light surrounding them faded away, leaving behind the corpse of his father and a burning village.

X X

"Hmm, I thought you'd have a stronger stomach than that. Come on," Maze commented as made to put a hand on Jack's shoulder to guide him along the established path that Jack found himself vomiting up the previous day's meals on. Jack knocked the old mage's arm away, anger welling up inside of him at the man's casual disregard of the murder of his family. "Save your energy boy! It's not me you want to fight," Maze told him irritably, somewhat unused to dealing with situations like this. "You might not realise it, but I just saved your life."

"You left the village behind!" Jack snapped back, finally finding his voice.

"There's nothing left for you in Oakvale. And if you'd stayed, you'd be just as dead as the rest of them," Maze returned, as he began to move along the fence lined path as dusk set in around them. "Come with me," he ordered, not looking back to see if he followed.

After several minutes of silence during which Jack followed Maze through the forested paths to whatever destination the old man was leading him to, his guide spoke up again. "As I told you, my name is Maze. I am the head of the Guild of Heroes. You've heard of it, of course," he threw out carelessly.

For a moment, Jack was taken away from the reality that was just starting to set in, and back to the pleasant daydreams that he had commonly entertained whenever he was supposed to be doing his chores. Visions of great champions wielding mighty blades, evil mages cloaked in the shadows they commanded, stealthy rangers creeping through the forests...it all seemed like a lifetime ago after the events of the previous day. His sister's birthday.

"You'll find nowhere safer in all of Albion," Maze continued, shaking Jack from his thoughts. "Nor a better place to call your home.

Scattered thoughts began to focus, as Jack began paying real attention to his rescuer's words. He couldn't possibly mean...

"And if it's vengeance you want, you'll need the training only we can offer," Maze continued as they rounded a bend in the path and the sight of the fabled Hero's Guild was revealed to Jack for the first time.

He does, Jack thought disbelief rising within him. People like him weren't accepted into the Guild. They only took the very best; only those who held the potential to become true Heroes, living Legends.

"Here we are," Maze concluded, coming to a stop in front of the solid gate to the Guild, each door inscribed with the Guild Seal and either ignoring or not noticing the stupefied look on his temporary ward's face. "I will introduce you to the Guildmaster. He shall be your guide from now on." He glanced down at the boy at his side. "And for pity's sake close your mouth. You don't want people to think you stupid."

X X

"I have a new student for you," Maze announced to the bald, moustached man who was inspecting what appeared to be a giant map in the main hall of the Guild. "Put him upstairs with the girl. I'm getting tired of other apprentices complaints that she has a room to herself," he groused to himself.

The Guildmaster looked Jack over, his gaze penetrating. Jack found himself straightening subconsciously under that gaze, his eyes drawn to the Seal that was either tattooed or branded onto the old man's (even older than Maze, by the looks of it) forehead. "You don't look much like Hero material to me," he stated disinterestedly. "But Maze knows what he's doing, I suppose," he added, sounding like he very much doubted that.

Jack bristled indignantly under that judgement, before checking himself. Snarling at one of the two men who held the future he'd always dreamed of in his hands in front of the other did not seem like the best idea at the moment.

A look passed between the two old men that went unnoticed by the boy between them, one approving, the other pleased.

"Well, follow me then," the Guildmaster shrugged as if he didn't particularly care either way, before turning and making his way up the stairs to where Jack's room was apparently located. Jack hurried after him, still rather overwhelmed by the events of the entire day, before pausing and turning halfway up the staircase. He looked at Maze and opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again, unsure of how to voice how he felt.

There was no need however. Maze merely looked him in the eyes and nodded gravely, allowing himself to hope for the first time in many years. The old mage departed the hall without further communication, heading to his own quarters where he would spend the rest of the night without rest, pondering the events of the night and his own role in them, and how they could possibly shape the events of the future in the years to come.

X X

Up in his shared room, laying in an uncomfortable new bed, Jack stared at the stone ceiling as he felt his fatigue begin to overtake him. His family had been murdered, his village destroyed. He had been saved from certain death by a stern old Hero and taken to the Guild of Heroes, where he was apparently going to begin his training at the next day. Unsure of how to feel, after having what would have been his worst nightmare entwined with his greatest dream, Jack finally decided to sort it all out when he wasn't so exhausted and allowed the quiet relief of sleep to claim him.

X X

"It's time to wake up!"

Jack blinked groggily as a voice intruded on his sleep, wondering who this strange person in his house was and what they wanted. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he sat up and looked around, as the sight of his new room at the Guild hammered the memories of the previous day back into his skull.

"You must be my new room-mate," a dark skinned girl who stood a full head taller than him stated as she looked him over. "Hmm," she continued. "Shorter than I expected."

Jack scowled fearsomely at the mention of his height, or lack of it. It wasn't his fault that most people his age were all heads taller than him. "You're not that much taller..."

"My name's Whisper," the girl continued with a small smirk at his reaction. "I've been here for a month. Had the room to myself 'til now too. But that's all right," she finished with a shrug.

After the introduction, Jack felt compelled to respond in kind. "Jack," he introduced himself.

"Of Blades?" Whisper quipped. "Might wanna change that," she teasingly advised, earning another fearsome scowl (in his mind) from Jack. "You know you talk in your sleep? Sounded like a bad nightmare," she informed him carelessly. "Happens to a lot the first week. Some don't even last that long. Homesick, you know."

"I'm sorry," Jack bit out angrily. Anger was better than grief. "I'll try not to let the nightmares of my family's murder yesterday interfere with your sleep."

"Oh," Whisper answered in embarrassment. "Sorry." She paused, watching as Jack slid off his bed and began to tidy it up, noting that he was still clad in rough outsider's clothes, blood on the gloves he had apparently been too tired to remove. "What was your family name?"

"Name?" Jack asked blankly.

"You know," Whisper expanded as she watched him work. "Your bloodline."

"Why would I know that?"

"Don't give me that. You've obviously been educated."

"Well, yeah," Jack responded, somewhat confused by the line of questioning. "M-mum made sure we learned our letters, taught some of the other kids too."

"Where did you live?" Whisper demanded curiously. "Half the kids who start here can't read or write to begin with, and you don't speak like some country bumpkin either."

Jack gave a barely noticeable flinch before answering quietly, "Oakvale."

"Oh. Sorry," Whisper repeated herself, mentally kicking herself for her words. Passing through the mess the previous night after she had tired herself playing in the woods, she had overheard several instructors discussing the news that Maze had returned with: a small sleepy hamlet to the south had been razed by a bandit attack with precious few survivors. "Come on," she gathered herself, making a promise to be nice to her new room-mate. "I'll show you the way to the mess hall." Her resolution to be nice crumbled after token resistance to her next comment, "wouldn't want you to get lost, what with not being able to see over all the heads of all the other Trainees here, short stuff."

Another fearsome scowl appeared across Jack's face. He'd only known the girl five minutes and already she infuriated him. The fragrant scent of bacon wafting through the door to their room distracted him however, and he found himself following Whisper downstairs to the mess.

"What are Trainees?" Jack asked as they descended the stairs. "I thought everyone here was an Apprentice until they became a Hero."

"We're Trainees, at the moment," Whisper explained, threading past several others as they apparently returned to their rooms. "We stay Trainees until we reach 13, unless you turn out to be stupidly good at something." The dark skinned girl paused the gestured the the large map of Albion that the Guildmaster had been inspecting when Jack had been introduced to him the previous night. "This is the Map Room. If you're lucky you'll see a Hero come and take a Quest every now and then," she explained before continuing on. "At 13, you're an Apprentice, and that's when they start teaching us the good stuff," Whisper told him excitedly as they entered what had to be the mess hall, where she led him over to a bench that was covered by trays filled with assorted foods.

Grabbing their plates, the two piled them with food and took a seat at one of the long wooden benches that filled the large hall, still half full with other Trainees and the occasional Apprentice.

"What do you mean by good stuff?" Jack asked curiously as he began to devour his bacon and eggs, even as he looked around the hall in an attempt to take it all in.

"They don't really teach us any fighting until we're Apprentices," Whisper told him glumly as she practically inhaled a small mound of...something. "Raisins. Want some?" she offered, noting his gaze. She shrugged as he shook his head and focused on his own hot breakfast. "Until then, it's all focused on 'Improving your Strength, Skill and Will so that you may hone your body into an effective instrument'," Whisper stated pompously, obviously mocking someone.

Jack unsuccessfully tried to hold back a snigger at her tone. It was easy to distract himself from thinking about the events that had led him here, what with the hustle of Guild life and getting to know his new room-mate.

"How old are you, anyway?" Whisper asked idly after several moments of silent eating.

Swallowing a mouthful of juice, Jack replied, "eight summers last Avossuns Day," he named the day marking midway between spring equinox and summer solstice. "What about you?" he asked curiously.

"Eight summers this Skormdron's Eve," Whisper named the midway point between summer solstice and autumn equinox. "Guess for all your lack of height, you're half a year older than me," she mock sighed.

Jack glared at her, although the effect was ruined as a piece of egg escaped the side of his mouth. "Wait till I get my growth spurt, then we'll see who the short one is," he grumbled.

"If you say so, farmboy," Whisper teased as they finished their breakfasts. After a quick instruction to drop his utensils in the large wooden tub in the corner of the hall, she led him outside for his first view of the Guild training grounds.

Jack couldn't help but stare in slight awe at the sight before him. The Guild sat at the top of a hill that looked down over a large expanse of rolling fields interspersed with streams that stretched out to the edge of a vast forest. The grounds themselves were dotted with various types of training fields, some simple dirt rings where Apprentices sparred, archery ranges where Trainees were being taught to string a bow, and even small artificial islands in the middle of one of the numerous streams where two Heroes were putting on a magic exhibition in the form of a mock duel.

Then there were the more unusual training fields. Irrigation had been channelled into one dug out field, where two teams of Apprentices now skirmished in knee deep water, while in another a group of Trainees struggled to crawl through a mass of thick mud while staying under numerous wires strung above them. Jack could even make out a narrow raised platform that Trainees, Apprentices and Heroes alike were taking turns to run across while avoiding the heavy sandbags and wooden mock weapons that swung irregularly back and forth.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Whisper asked as she watched Jack's reaction to the extensive Guild training grounds. The boy could only nod in agreement. "By the way, you have a placement test with all the other Trainees that were accepted in the last month that starts..." Whisper glanced up at the large clock face that adorned the side of the Guild Tower, "...five minutes ago. It's at the training ground two bridges down. Better hurry, you don't want to keep the Guildmaster waiting any more than you already have."

Jack gaped at her for several long moments before taking off in the direction his 'guide' had indicated, pausing only to throw a glare over his shoulder at the laughing girl. There would be vengeance!

X X

"Ah, young master Jack. So good of you to join us this morning."

Jack cringed at the mild greeting he received from the Guildmaster as he tried to slide unobtrusively into the group of Trainees that were listening attentively to whatever speech the old man had been giving before he arrived. He ducked his head as several other Trainees let out sounds of amusement at his plight.

"Now that we are all here, let me explain what you will be undertaking today. As all of you have arrived in the past month, you have not yet been assigned to a particular class in any of the disciplines we provide here at the Guild. Therefore, you shall each be undertaking placement tests to determine whether you will be placed in the beginning class with your fellows, or if you have adequate prior skill to be placed in an existing class."

The Guildmaster paused in his lengthy explanation to survey the twenty or so Trainees before him, They were all listening attentively, so he continued with his speech.

"We run the disciplines offered to each of you based on merit, so if you find yourself excelling in a given field you may be promoted above your age mates to learn with an older group," the old man explained, before his voice turned stern. "However, if you do not perform to the standards we expect of our potential Heroes, you will be dropped down to learn alongside younger Trainees until your performance picks up. If you fail to do so...you will be expelled from the Guild entirely. All of you before me today may go on to become renowned Heroes worthy of song and legend, or none of you."

There were several moments of low muttering amongst the Trainees as they digested this information. Jack resolved in that moment to prove that Maze's trust in him was correct, and be the best damn Hero the world had ever seen. He would show the old man who didn't think he looked much like Hero material just how wrong he was.

The Guildmaster masked a satisfied smile as he observed the group before him. In at least half of them, he could see that drive, the fire to succeed in their eyes that would enable them to thrive in the training they would be given in their time at the Guild. Of the ones who did not, some would go back to the lives they would have had if they had not been accepted into the Guild, while others would go on to become Guardsmen across Albion.

There was one child that attracted his attention most of all, however. Standing at the back of the group, one of the shortest of the bunch, was the dark haired boy that Maze had brought in the previous night. In his eyes the drive to succeed was a veritable inferno, and he already found himself expecting great things from the child.

None of these thoughts showed themselves on the old Hero's face as he gave his next instructions. "Proceed onto the training field, and line up next to the target dummies. When you are ready, I shall administer the first test of the day..."

X X

Jack collapsed onto his bed at the end of a day of torture. It was now late evening, and he and the other Trainees had been given barely a moments rest through the day.

The day had begun with a measure of their strength, obtained by having each of the 24 Trainees beat up a straw mannequin first with their fists, then with a shaft of wood that they had been issued with under the watchful eyes of the Guildmaster and several other instructors. They had then been taken on a 'short jog'-around the entirety of the Trainee accessibly training grounds—before being led inside for a short break and lunch, before being herded into a classroom where they were separated into smaller groups where they were asked all manner of questions and tested on a variety of subjects, ranging from basic maths and writing, to more complicated topics such as history and geography.

Some topics, such as writing, the majority of the Trainees knew enough to get by in, while others, like geography, only the more educated children from well off families were aware of. These knowledge tests had taken up the rest of the afternoon, and Jack thought he had done fairly well all of them, especially after the instructors had assured some of the more worried children that the Guild assumed that Trainees had no prior knowledge in each of the subjects offered, and that testing out into higher classes was the exception rather than the norm. He was now rather grateful for all the time his mother had taken to teach him and his sister all she had, despite his vocal complaints at the time, although he tried not to dwell on that.

The most memorable part of the day had come near the very end, when the Trainees had been led through an unassuming doorway, descended a number of steep winding passages before crossing a dark, empty chasm and been ushered into the titanic Chamber of Fate, an enormous natural cavern filled with stalactites, stalagmites, and strangely coloured crystal formations, at the centre of which a large, shallow arena had been chiselled out of the stone floor, capable of holding the nigh on thousand members of the Guild, from the lowliest Trainee to the greatest Hero. There, the Guildmaster had recited the mythos behind the Guild of Heroes, the discipline and honour they worked to instil in their Trainees, and the driving force behind the Guild itself—Choice.

The final words that the Guildmaster had spoken to them that day, while the young Heroes-to-be were awed by the sheer scale of the structure hidden away beneath the Guild, still echoed in Jack's mind as he drifted off to sleep that night.

"Blood has been shed and suffering endured, so that you who would become Heroes have the power to Choose your own path. But know this, young Heroes: in time it will be blood of your own that is needed to sustain the freedom of Choice, and you the ones that must endure the suffering."

"It is against that day that we guide you all."

X X

In the months that followed, Jack proved himself to be a sharp and dedicated Trainee, pushing past his age mates and gaining entry to classes held for those two years his senior. The field of Trainees was much thinner there than compared to his entry level class—Whisper informed him that sometimes, as many as half the class left the Guild within the first month, unable to keep up with the high standards expected of its members.

He was not the only Trainee to rise through the placements, finding a familiar face in Whisper. While the dark skinned girl took great delight in reminding him of his lack of height and farm boy status at every chance, Jack retaliated with long winded lectures about how a city girl like her wouldn't have lasted a week on a farm. Soon, the pair of them could be reliably found poring over a book as they worked on their assignments together, or challenging each other in a race to complete the daily physical exercises.

Guild life settled into a comfortable routine. With the fortune of sharing a room with a fellow classmate, Jack and Whisper found themselves able to work off each other as they pushed themselves to keep up with their older peers, some of whom did not take kindly to the little kids who were supposedly their equals. Rising early in the morning, they would undertake the physical conditioning that their instructors put them through to prepare their bodies for their Apprenticeship, before moving on to the drills that they still performed with the wooden sticks that they had been issued on their first day at the Guild.

After a day full of physical activity, the Trainees would be granted several hours break to work on their own pursuits or just generally calm down after a full day, before making their way to one of the many comfortable classrooms within the Guild. There, they would learn of all they could about the outside world, from the creatures that roamed it to those who ruled it.

They were also taught about those who had come before them, the Heroes so legendary that children grew up knowing their names. This was not done as a way to promote the importance of the Guild, but rather as a way of helping young Heroes survive. One of the greatest causes of death amongst young Heroes was death at the hands of another, more experienced Hero when they found themselves on opposing sides of a Quest, or when a young Hero somehow offended an older one. There were even occasions of older Heroes hunting younger ones for the challenge of it, although cases like these often found themselves the victims in turn of a larger group of those who would be their prey.

The Guild was doing its best to weed out those who thought the life of a Hero to be an easy, glamorous existence, and leave only those who could survive what the world would throw at them. They were succeeding.

At that particular point in time however, the Trainees of Jack and Whisper's class were gathered in one of the many clearings that dotted the Guild woods, waiting for their instructor with barely contained excitement. Today, they were going to learn about the most fabled of Hero abilities—Will.

Quiet conversations were taking place all over the clearing, the Trainees speculating on what the lesson would involve, and who their instructor would be. Details on what they were to learn were left intentionally vague by the more senior Guild members, leading to nearly anxious levels of anticipation.

"What do you know about this?" Jack asked his friend and rival, slightly nervous about the lesson to come. He knew for a fact that every Hero was capable of exercising their Will, and he'd found himself having several nightmares over an inability to perform the simplest of magic.

"About the same amount as you," Whisper replied, eyeing the rest of the assembled Trainees in the clearing.

The pair of them stood off to the side of the clearing, away from the main group of children. While there were none who were openly antagonistic towards the pair, their classmates had made it clear that they did not particularly appreciate having two younger peers skip right over two years of training that they had all been required to take.

"Don't give me that. Your brother must've told you something," Jack grumbled, idly fingering the hem of the plain Trainee shirt he wore. Whisper had told him about her famous brother, the Arena legend Thunder, several months ago, and they had both benefited from numerous small bits of advice the man had passed on to his sister.

"He didn't! The most I've ever gotten out of him is that belief and gut instinct has a lot to do with it," Whisper protested irritably. "And believe me, I've made a nuisance of myself asking about it too."

"Yeah, I can picture that easily," Jack snickered.

Whisper made to drive an elbow into her annoying companion's ribs and make a suitably witty reply, when a hush fell over the clearing. Looking over to the pathway that led back to the Guild, the pair's eyes widened.

What could only be described as a desiccated corpse was approaching steadily, with a sense of power far beyond what his appearance portrayed worn about him like a cloak. He wore a blue robe with gold mail woven into it with a single sleeve running down his left arm, while a bright gold pauldron adorned his right shoulder. A golden gauntlet covered his right hand, while a blue bolt of cloth wrapped around his head to cover his nose and forehead, leaving the shrivelled skin around his eyes and jaw bare. A ruff of white fur ran about the collar and bottom hem of his robe. His weapon, a vicious looking scythe, was secured across his back, made of plain appearing wood while the blade was forged from the same magnificent gold metal that made up his armour and decorated with arcane runes that matched those tattooed on the dry, shrunken skin of his right arm.

"Fuck," Whisper breathed quietly, greatly startling Jack with her uncharacteristic swearing. "That—that's Scythe!"

"Scythe?" Jack questioned quietly, grimacing at his ignorance. Scythe was not a name that he had come across before.

"The Guild doesn't cover him because he never interferes with other Heroes and spends most of his time outside of Albion," Whisper explained, a hint of awe colouring her tone. "It's said that he's almost as old as Jack of Blades, if not more powerful!"

"Why the hell is he teaching a class of Trainees then?" Jack asked as Scythe arrived at the clearing, before the legend's eyes swept over the group watching him in various degrees of shock, fear and awe. For the briefest of moments, it seemed that the Hero's gaze lingered on him, before it continued on and Jack was sure he had imagined it.

"He has done it once before that Thunder told me, but that was over two decades ago," Whisper murmured her reply. "Maybe he just gets bored once in a while?"

Further speculation was cut off as a deeper voice than they would expect issued forth from the living corpse. "I am Scythe," he introduced himself evenly, "and I am here to introduce you to the wonders of the Will."

The Trainees, Jack and Whisper included, gathered around their instructor at a respectful (or perhaps fearful) distance, their attention hanging off his every word.

"Exercising your Will for the first time is both simple and extremely difficult. Learning to call upon your Will whenever you wish is a process that will take years of dedication, and some will never master the ability to any reasonable degree at all."

Many of the Trainees seemed discouraged at this information, yet Scythe pressed on, uncaring of their reactions.

"Regardless of personal limitation, I will see each of you unlock the potential of your Will this day," Scythe stated somewhat ominously, his words coming off as a mix between promise and threat. He raised his uncovered hand high, revealing bony, spindly fingers. Jack saw his dark eyes shine with an inner light, before he clenched his fist and a jaw rattling pulse of energy passed through the clearing.

Startled exclamations issued from many of the Trainees and several backed away at the sudden sensation that lingered within them for a long moment, even after the pulse was gone. Some of their classmates clutched at their heads, while others rubbed at muscle tics and cramps. Whisper shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as she shook out her hands with her eyes closed, while Jack merely stared at his hands as he flexed his fingers, his entire body tingling. He felt alive.

"Absorb this feeling," Scythe interrupted their reactions. "That is the feeling of my Will echoing through you. To unlock your potential, you will need to exercise a Will of your own in its place." His once again dark eyes swept the group, coming to rest on Jack. "Do not concern yourselves with the discomfort of the prior sensation. This is merely the result of a foreign Will within your system. When you succeed in unlocking your Will, it will feel much more natural...and powerful," Scythe continued on, his gaze leaving Jack. "You will find the meditation techniques you have been taught useful in this endeavour. I will be monitoring you as you proceed. Begin."

Jack turned the curious exchange over in his head as he made his way over to a nearby tree, sitting down and leaning against it. He certainly hadn't endured the same discomfort the other Trainee's had if their reactions had been anything to go by. On the contrary, he couldn't recall ever feeling so energised.

The young Trainee began to regulate his breathing, pacing himself to a count of seven. If his own Will was supposed to be even better than that, he wasn't going to waste another minute.

X X

More than an hour later, and Jack was staring at his hands with an expression of purest loathing. He could feel the pressure building inside him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring it forth.

While he wasn't the only Trainee struggling, he was the only one who had yet to gain any reaction at all. Just half an hour into the exercise, Whisper had given a startled shout as her hand burst into flame, gaining the attention of everyone in the clearing. The conjured flame had licked harmlessly at her fingers under her astonished gaze, before catching on the sleeve of her shirt.

Whisper, suddenly less enamoured in her success, had danced somewhat humorously on the spot before managing to smother the burning material and looking about sheepishly. The slight burns on her arm had led to the second incident of Will expression, when a fellow Trainee had spontaneously healed the shiny red marks.

Scythe had given her the curt direction of, "control. Learn it," before turning to the second Trainee who had begun to sway dangerously on his feet. "Rest," he ordered. "Do not attempt to heal another until you have sufficiently developed your Will."

Spurred on by the success of their fellows, every member of the group managed to manifest their Will in some way, some with more success than others—except for Jack. While his peers attempted to recreate their various successes—fire, frost, healing, increased strength—he was still struggling to express the power he could feel rising within himself.

Whisper glanced at her friend in concern. While they had always been able to keep pace with their older peers with ease, Will was something that developed with age, and she couldn't help but worry that perhaps Jack just couldn't access it yet.

The feeling of his rising Will was starting to become physically painful to Jack as he struggled with it. His arms were covered in a sharp, exaggerated sensation of pins and needles and it was only getting worse. His fingers began to twitch as pain lanced through his joints and tendons.

"Do not neglect to give your Will a form to express itself," Scythe's deep voice interrupted Jack's focus, causing him to look up at the ancient Hero where he stood some distance away at the other end of the clearing. "Will without intent is useless," the same deep voice whispered inches from his ear.

A jolt of adrenaline roared through his system at the sudden presence behind him, despite having his back to a tree. The sharp build up of Will within his arms broke like a collapsing dam, sending power flowing through his body. His alarm at the presence behind him transmitted itself to his Will, and then he moved.

The world turned into a blur as he was propelled forward from his sitting position. The young Trainee didn't even have time to blink as he found himself on his feet and about to collide with a small group of his fellows—except he didn't. His body turned insubstantial, passing through all obstacles in a rush before he came to a jarring stop, finding himself staring at the back of his instructor. The skeletal man turned in a blur, almost too fast to see, and Jack found himself moving at insane speeds before he could consciously process his desire to be elsewhere.

Barely a second later he was at Whisper's side. His legs threatened to give out, and would have if Jack hadn't caught himself by leaning into his friend at the last moment. Whisper put an arm around his shoulders, helping the younger boy remain on his feet as whispers broke out among their classmates.

"A most impressive display for a Trainee," Scythe announced to his charges, casting an eye to the now orange afternoon light filtering through the forest canopy. "I feel we have achieved all that we will today." His gaze roamed around the clearing, once again seeming to linger on Jack for the barest of moments. "You have done well," he intoned. Without further comment, he placed a hand into one of the pouches he wore at his waist, before a piping whistle echoed through the clearing and he winked out of existence.

Jack felt a rising sense of pride in himself as his vision began to go dark. He remained conscious just long enough to take note of the Trainee who had unintentionally healed Whisper's arm earlier take a hold of his other side, before passing out just as he and Whisper began to lead him back down the path to the Guild.

Yes. This was a good day.

X X

Whisper batted the scrunched up ball of paper out of the air as it flew towards her without glancing away from her work. A second, and then a third projectile met with similar fates before the girl slowly looked towards her antagonists, sending the pair of boys a heavy glare through bloodshot eyes.

"Jack, Duran," Whisper started sweetly, before her tone went flat. "If you do not stop distracting me from the very important study I am doing for the Apprentice exams we are all taking tomorrow, I will rip off your hands and use your blood to refill my inkwell."

"Come on Wisp," Jack attempted to coax. "It's time for a break."

"I'll have time for a break after our exams," Whisper snapped back at her friend of three years.

"You're doing yourself more harm than good," Duran, a pale, white haired boy with dreadlocks from the north eastern mountains and a knack for healing told her frankly. They had become friends after they first learned to unlock their Will and the older boy had helped Whisper carry an unconscious Jack back to the Guild. "When I was your age I wasn't doing half as much study as you have been."

"Maybe that's why you weren't taking the Apprentice exam two years early," the dark girl replied waspishly.

"Ouch," a newcomer approaching the table cut in before an argument could start. "What has Whisper all worked up like bait in her trousers?" the girl asked as she turned an empty chair around to rest her chin on the back. Her skin was tanned but fading, and she wore her straggly brown hair in a long ponytail.

"She's terrified that she'll fail the Apprentice exam and be forced to remain a Trainee for the rest of her life," Jack answered seriously, cutting across what he knew would have been a denial from Whisper.

"I am not terrified," Whisper glared at Jack, "I just don't fancy spending an extra year here that could be spent productively out in the real world, farmboy."

"I haven't seen the boys since workout this morning, and that was six hours ago. And I haven't seen you at all today Whisper," the newcomer told her plainly. "Which means you've been cooped up in here all day."

"So?"

"So we're going outside. Now. Fresh air, sunlight and white fluffy bunnies."

Without giving their friend another chance to protest, the three Trainees grabbed the fourth and began to drag her through the Guild towards the outside world, leaving the piles of books on the table behind them.

"Damn it Klessan," Whisper complained. "They would have left me alone if you hadn't interfered."

"Don't blame me cause your threats don't frighten me none," the tanned girl, Klessan, shrugged.

Whisper scowled at the reminder. While she could normally threaten Jack and Duran into doing small things for her, Klessan had always been immune. Leadership of their little group seemed to sway from Whisper to Klessan, and had done so from the day they had become friendly rivals. Hailing from a small fishing village on the coast, Klessan had completed their group shortly after Duran had joined, the mountain clansman's son being her only other close friend at the Guild.

"If I fail the exams tomorrow," Whisper assured them slowly, "there will be pain."

"Let's hit up the lake," Duran suggested, perking up at the idea and completely ignoring Whisper.

"Sounds like fun," Jack agreed with a glance at his sometimes volatile friend, who seemed to be warming to the idea against her desire to study despite herself.

"Let's go then," Klessan declared, still leading Whisper by the arm. "Mayhap we'll be able to relax a bit after studying so hard today," she finished airily.

"Fine," Whisper groused as she shook her arm loose. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Awesome," Jack stated happily as they passed through the Guild courtyard. "Last one there-"

"I'm afraid," a stern voice interrupted, "you won't have the chance to partake in the challenge you were undoubtedly about to issue." Looking over to the covered walkway that stretched around the courtyard, the four children took in the sight of Maze, the Guild leader himself, partially cloaked in shadow as he leaned against the wall.

"Sir?" Jack inquired nervously. Maze had rarely spoken to him since the night he had brought him to the Guild.

"Come see me in my office," the guild head directed. "You friends may continue on their excursion to the lake."

Without further instruction, the image of the elder mage began to blur and distort, before it returned to the shadow it really was. The four friends looked each other over for a moment.

"That's not weird or anything..." Klessan trailed off.

"You haven't gotten into another fight, have you?" Whisper asked suspiciously.

"We would have heard if he had," Duran shook his head as he answered in Jack's place. "If you can't make it to the lake, we'll see you at dinner, yeah?"

"Sure," Jack shrugged, still puzzling over Maze's invitation and ignoring Whisper's baseless, completely untrue accusation. "I don't know what this is about though."

"Guess you'll find out," Duran nodded to him as he, Klessan and Whisper began to move away.

"I'll be wanting a full report about all this!" Klessan called before they passed around the corner of the courtyard and out of sight, her unnaturally high curiosity demanding no less.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack grumbled to himself. He looked up at Maze's tower, where he could just make out the shape of a figure watching from the highest window. This was a curious occurrence.

X X

"Come in," Maze instructed without turning to face Jack, engrossed with a large book that rested upon a pedestal before the window. Hesitantly, the Trainee did so, entering the office of one of the most powerful Heroes produced by the Guild in recent memory.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Jack asked, looking around. The office of the Guild Head was a multi story affair in the top half of the great tower that watched over the Guild, richly appointed with polished wood and dark rugs. Tall bookcases lined the walls, and a ladder poked out of the top of a trapdoor across the room that led to the lower levels of the office complex. In order to reach the lower levels of the rooms you first had to climb the circling staircase to the top of the tower, an ordeal that would have left most of those without Guild training extremely short of breath.

"Yes," Maze replied, turning away from his book to look at the young Trainee. "I've recently returned from the last of a series of rather time consuming Quests and had an enlightening conversation with an old acquaintance, a Hero named Scythe. You know of him?" he threw out at the end.

"Yes sir," Jack responded, trying to keep his eyes from darting about at the esoteric devices dotting the tables and strange paintings on the walls. "He covered our Will induction several weeks ago."

"I know. That was the main topic of our conversation," the old mage informed him as he approached from across the room. "I hear that you displayed a remarkable amount of natural talent in your first expression of Will. Have you progressed any further since then?" he questioned.

"Trainees aren't permitted to train the Will until we become Apprentices and have proper supervision sir," Jack answered neutrally, keeping his face bland.

"That isn't what I asked, Trainee," Maze rebuked, taking up a crystal pitcher filled with some sort of brown liquid. He wordlessly offered some to Jack, who accepted readily, his mouth suddenly dry.

Accepting the glass cup from Maze (actual glass! As a cup!) Jack took a small sip that turned into a larger swill at the taste.

"Some sort of fruit juice, from the southern islands," Maze explained easily, although his sharp eyes never left Jack's face.

"I have been practising on my own a bit," Jack confessed after several long moments of silent interrogation. "But always on my own, and my friends don't know about it."

That was a lie. Whisper had guessed the first time he returned to bed exhausted after a 'night time stroll' around the grounds, before demanding to be let in on it, if only so she could drag his 'fool of a farmboy body' to the infirmary when he messed up, as she was sure he would. Her Hero brother had regaled her with enough stories of Will training gone wrong for her to want to attempt it on her own, but Jack's continued success seemed to be weakening her resolve. If the opportunity to become an Apprentice wasn't so close in their future, Jack was sure she would have given in and joined his practices by now.

"I see," Maze replied at length, breaking Jack from his reverie. "Have you met with success?"

"Sir?" Jack asked, somewhat surprised by the lack of reprimand.

"Have you been able to expand the abilities of your Will?" the tattooed man asked impatiently.

"Er, yes sir," Jacked stumbled over his reply. "I've been able to move a bit faster over a longer distance, and I'm nowhere near as tired after just one try," he explained, before realising he should probably start at the beginning. "I mean, I'm able to rush-"

"Yes, Scythe described what it is you were able to do," Maze returned with a raised eyebrow. "Rushing forward some distance while becoming insubstantial and passing through obstacles blocking your path—not only that, but appearing at their back, ready to strike? Quite the Assassin's move there, young Jack," Maze remarked, a hint of calculation in his eyes.

Jack grinned at the compliment, happy at having his accomplishment praised by a master of Will.

"Have you managed anything more?" Maze questioned, sipping from his glass.

Jack's grin turned a bit sheepish as he scratched the back of his head. "Well, I electrocuted myself pretty badly once, and scorched the tree I was sitting against..." he trailed off at a chuckle from Maze.

"I would have been greatly surprised if you managed to make such progress without any mishaps whatsoever," Maze explained at Jack's questioning look. "But regardless, I am most impressed. The vast majority of Guild members do not achieve a working Will ability until midway through their Apprentice training, yet here you are about to take your Apprentice exam, two years early at that, and already you have one manageable ability with what sounds like another on the way."

This time Jack wasn't able to hold back a slight blush at the praise. It was extremely rare for a Trainee to gain the praise of an actual Hero and here he was being complimented by the head of the Guild himself! "Thank you sir," Jack answered, remembering his manners.

Maze waved his response off, "it appears you will excel in your Will training, should you gain Apprenticeship with with Guild."

Jack grimaced at the reminder of the upcoming exams. His friends constant worrying about it wasn't helping his own anxiety.

"Until then, the only help I can give you is to pass on the most invaluable piece of advice I ever received in the course of my own studies," Maze continued, fixing Jack with a gimlet eye. "'There is but one barrier holding back your Will, and that barrier is Will itself. Understand this, and you will be capable of great, terrible and wondrous things'," the silver haired man quoted.

Jack nodded once, absorbing and memorising the Guild leader's words.

"Away with you," Maze gestured towards the tower stairs, seeing that his words had been heeded. "I have business to conduct, and I'm sure you wish to join your friends."

The young Trainee nodded at Maze's words and turned to leave, but hesitated as he reached the stairs. His curiosity was roused. "Sir, who said that to you?" he ventured.

The arch mage stared at him impassively for a long moment before answering. "A being whose origins are lost to time. For now, you are better off knowing no more."

At the ominous reply, Jack scraped a hasty bow and wasted no time in leaving the tower. He took a deep breath once he was out in the fresh air and sunshine of the outdoors once more. His talk with Maze had given him a great deal to think about, but that pondering would have to wait. He would have plenty of time to research age-old beings once he had passed the Apprenticeship exam.

X

Jack felt like dancing. Dancing in his awesome shiny new Apprentice robes. At his left his friends, Duran and Klessan were comparing their experiences in the exams, while Whisper leaned against a tree to his right with an air that suggested that she hadn't been concerned about the rigorous testing in the slightest.

Seven of the fifty Trainees who had taken the exam had failed, two of whom were expelled from the Guild having failed the exam once before.

News that two of their year mates had already been escorted from the Guild grounds wouldn't have fazed the newly minted Apprentices even if they hadn't been on an emotional high from their success. While the Guild strictly forbade sabotage between Trainees and Apprentices, it encouraged an extremely competitive attitude between its members by providing rewards for exemplary skill. If anything, the new Apprentices were pleased by the departure of potential competition.

"What happens now?" Jack asked over the chatter of the other Apprentices in the tree covered clearing.

"I keep forgetting you jumped two years," Duran remarked idly, turning from his conversation with Klessan.

"I wasn't the only one," Jack pointed out.

"Whisper don't go asking questions that everyone else knows though," Klessan jumped in helpfully. "And she has her brother."

Jack shrugged and waited for a response to his question.

"We're to be split based on our scores," Duran answered as if Klessan had never spoke in the first place.

"Totally different classes?" Jack questioned.

"Nah," Duran yawned. "Just focus groups, for the main disciplines anyway. Don't know bout the other subjects."

"Don't worry, farmboy," Whisper began in a 'reassuring' voice. "I'm amazing at everything, so you're bound to have me in at least one of your classes." Her expression turned sly, "unless you didn't manage to score a merit on anything in your exam," she teased.

Jack's witty and scorching retort was cut off before he could think of it by the arrival of several Heroes who served as Guild trainers, headed by the Guildmaster himself.

"Congratulations...Apprentices," the Guildmaster said by way of greeting. "If you will remain in place, an Instructor will come to you with your examination critiques and your merit tokens, should you be skilled enough to have earned one. Kindly keep an eye on these tokens, as they are rather valuable. If you happen to lose or misplace yours, you will find yourself unable to gain access to the offered focus classes," the venerable old man warned, before gesturing to the men and women at his sides.

As the Instructors began to move about the clearing, Jack shifted from foot to foot impatiently. When a small brown bag was finally handed to him, he wasted no time in scrabbling amongst it for the small wooden tokens he knew had to be in there. From the corner of his eye he spied Whisper pull out a red token for Strength and a yellow one for Skill, while Duran held a red and Klessan a yellow.

After several agonising moments of anxiety, he grasped a length of twine and suppressed a relieved sigh. Retrieving it from the bag, he grinned at the sight of the red and blue tokens hanging from it. Now their training would truly begin.

X

A lone candle burned brightly, illuminating the parchment strewn table it sat upon. A lone figure sat hunched over the same table, his eyes straining to make out the faded words on the book he was poring over. The candle began to stutter and lose its strength, earning an irritated scowl from the boy using it. He made a flicking motion in its direction, causing it to flare blue and give out a steadier light, before turning back to his studies.

"It's nearly sunrise," a female voice remarked from a shadowed corner of the room.

The teen at the table tensed at the unexpected intrusion for a split second, before recognising the familiar presence. "'lo, Whisper," he greeted, rubbing at his eyes.

"You'll be exhausted for the rankings tomorrow," Whisper pointed out coolly, emerging from the shadowed corner. "Jack, you know that Dace is just waiting for an opportunity to humiliate you in from of the Instructors. You should steal a few hours sleep while you still can."

"That'd leave me even worse off," Jack shook his head, running a hand through unkempt brown hair. "I'll just Quicken myself for the tests."

Whisper gave an exasperated sigh, pacing forward and taking a seat on the edge of the table. "And pay the price for it when?"

"Come the weekend," Jack shrugged. "We'll have it off after the rankings, so I'll just sleep through it."

Whisper shook her head at the boy who had become her closest friend. When the farmboy set his mind to discovering some obscure fact or perfecting a new expression of Will, there was little that could distract him, least of all his own health. "Did you at least find what you holed yourself up in here for?"

"I think so," the boy replied, blinking slowly. "I'll know for sure after I test it out."

"Come on," Whisper stated, standing as she announced her decision. "Let's see if we can steal some bread from the kitchens and head out to the Guild Woods. You won't be worth anything later if you don't take a break now."

"Alright," Jack agreed, fighting down a yawn of tiredness now that he was no longer focusing on study. He stretched as he stood, working out the kinks in his back, before following his friend out of the room. He held back a smirk as he looked down on her. His growth spurt had finally delivered, and put an end to all of the short jokes at his expense.

After a quick detour through the Guild kitchens, they were making their way through the training grounds, empty save for a few Apprentices going through their morning routines and a squad on punishment detail. Illuminated by the light of the false dawn, there was a faint mist covering the grounds, leaving an atmosphere that made those present speak in hushed tones.

Jack and Whisper navigated their way through the woods with the skill of practised ease, heading for a small clearing by a river that they had staked their claim to alongside Duran and Klessan. As they walked, Jack checked the short iron blade that was slung casually across his back. Travelling with your weapon was a habit drilled constantly into the heads of Guild Apprentices to the point that it became first nature and they felt naked without one. For her part, Whisper carried a number of small combustible devices she called 'blast globes' that lit up whichever unfortunate managed to be hit by one, weapons she herself had devised after getting the basic idea from her brother.

Arriving at their destination, Jack slumped to the ground in the centre of the clearing and tore hungrily into a piece of still warm bread, only bothering with the fruit spread they'd brought once his initial hunger had been sated. Whisper stretched out like a cat before making herself comfortable leaning her back against his and deftly stealing the portion of bread he had just spread jam over. He scowled before retrieving another piece of bread for himself. The pair of them were silent for several long minutes, taking their time with the small breakfast.

Jack was the first to break the silence. "Looking forward to the final testing?" he ventured.

The question seemed to light a fire within Whisper. "Yes! Three months and we'll be true Heroes."

"We've got to pass the final exam first," Jack reminded her, rubbing at the stubble on his cheeks.

"Please," Whisper scoffed. "Like there's any chance we won't. There's a reason we're going to be the youngest graduates this decade. Well, I have you beaten by six months, but who's counting?" she teased.

Jack snorted and elbowed his confident friend in the ribs none too softly. "Don't be too overconfident now," he warned.

"I think I have every right to be confident," Whisper asserted, shifting her position against him slightly. "You don't get to be the fourth ranked by being a lazy farmboy."

"We'll see who holds the higher rank after today," Jack replied airily. "Silly little city girls should know better than-"

The Apprentice cut himself off abruptly as he heard rough movements coming from the underbrush across the stream. No Apprentice worth their salt would move so clumsily, and the woods were out of bounds to the Trainees. Swiftly, the two teens gathered the sack their food had been in and moved out of sight, Whisper leaping directly up into a tree while Jack concealed himself under a tangle of bushes at the waters edge. After several tense moments, the approaching group came into sight.

Jack frowned heavily at the sight of the five bandits that were apparently following the steam, heading towards the Guild. He could remember little of the night his hometown had been sacked and his family murdered, but he knew it was the work of bandits. These man would have fit in easily amongst the few he could recall. He closed his eyes and listened as their conversation floated across the stream.

"...don't you be wasting time 'ere either! We get in, get out, and tha's that," the apparent leader of the bandits was growling at the others.

"We were supposed to be there 'ours ago," another bandit complained. "Won't get there till lunch time at this rate."

"Shut yer gob, will ye?" a third demanded plaintively. "I don't fancy runnin' into any of those Heroes, ey."

"Awww, scared of the big bad Heroes are we? I never heard naught but tales of what these Heroes are supposed to be able tah do," another bandit mocked.

"Fuck up, all of ye," the leader spat as they ground to a halt across the steam from Jack's hiding place. "Pull up here a moment, an' less go over the plan one last time," he ordered, waiting until he was sure he had his men's attention before continuing. "We spread out along the edge of the forest once we reach the Guild, makin' damned sure we're properly hidden. The point of all this is to find ourselves a couple the young uns that we can take for ourselves and train up as our own, so no hurtin' the little blighters too badly."

"Why come all this way just for a couple of tykes?" the bandit who had complained earlier whined again. "Woulda been easier just tah grab a few kids from outside Bowerstone."

"Because these kids have been hand picked by the Guild to become Heroes," the leader snapped back. "Now put a sock in it afore I put my fist in it."

Tuning out the bickering between the bandits, Jack glanced upwards to the tree he knew Whisper was concealed in. He could barely make out her form where she had molded herself against a tree limb. She made several gestures, before pointing at the bandits across the stream. Jack shook his head and made several gestures in reply, receiving a nod from the girl.

The bandits were still arguing with each other when a clay globe about the size of a fist sailed through the air to land between two of their number who had been about to come to blows. They stared at it dumbly for several seconds, before the fuse that burned on it ran out.

A sharp crack broke the morning silence, and send several flocks of nearby birds scrambling for flight, as the screams of the bandits that had been peppered with numerous shards of clay were drowned out by the two who had been unfortunate enough to have the blast globe explode at their feet and cover them with some burning liquid.

Jack rose from his hiding place, lightning crackling between his fingers. With a thought, he was propelled across the water, spraying a wake in the shallow stream behind him. He grasped two of the three remaining bandits by the neck and tried to ignore the burned smell of flesh as they were cooked by the current, their screams cut off as their voice boxes were fried.

The last remaining bandit, the leader, drew a wicked blade from across his back and charged Jack with a bellow. The Apprentice rolled out of the way of the attack, bringing his own short blade to bear. He was able to fend off the heavy over handed blows of the larger blade by keeping his distance, but was unable to retaliate. The bandit leader sneered at him.

"Blown yer load already? I'm gonna enjoy gutting you, ye little sack of shit," the bandit taunted, before charging him with a roar.

Jack froze briefly as he thought back to the night he had been orphaned, and the bandit that had charged him as he knelt at his father's corpse, and then his foe was upon him, a victorious snarl on his face. The cleaver swept down to separate his head from his torso, only to pass through air. Jack smirked at the stupefied expression on the bandit's face as he swept through him, his form insubstantial, before reforming behind his victim. He reversed his grip on his blade, thrusting it behind him and into the lower back of his opponent. With a vicious tear, he pulled the blade out—through the side of the man's torso, ripping through muscle and tendon.

It was with a detached gaze that Jack surveyed the carnage he and Whisper had wreaked upon the bandits in less than a minute. The screams of the two men who had been hit by the blast globe had subsided into agonised moans and whimpers. The scent of cooked flesh was heavy in the clearing, although he found it hard to pay attention to small things like that.

Whisper dropped out of one of the trees, having used the treetops to cross the stream, and used a small knife to put the survivors out of their misery. Her hands shook as she did so, resulting in a jagged tear across one man's throat rather than a clean cut. Jack doubted the man was coherent enough to notice it.

"W-we should alert the Guildmaster," Whisper spoke up, looking shaken but trying to hide it.

"Yeah," Jack replied absently. He sat down hard, heedless of the blood on the clearing floor.

"Jack?" Whisper questioned hesitantly.

"Yeah, Wisp," he replied with a name he hadn't used in four years, since they were Trainees. "Just give me a minute."

X

The Guildmaster surveyed the two promising Apprentices over his desk, taking note of the bloodstains on young Jack's clothing. He listened patiently as they concluded their report.

"I see," the old Hero said at length. "And you're sure there were no other bandits present?"

Jack and Whisper exchanged a glance before nodding surely.

"Ah," the Guildmaster accepted. "Excellent work. You have done your trainers proud."

Whatever the teens had been expecting, that wasn't it.

"Sir?" Whisper questioned.

"You weren't waiting for a scolding, were you?" he asked in amusement. "You protected the Guild, as expected of a proper Apprentice. You have also taken your first lives a bit ahead of your peers, but you seem to be handling it remarkably well. Life as a Hero can be quite difficult if you find yourself reluctant to take a life."

"Not exactly how I expected to start the day," Whisper joked self consciously, rubbing the back of her head.

"Least you got some sleep," Jack retorted. "I'm still on yesterday."

"I can't imagine whose fault that is, farmboy," Whisper shot back, seemingly unmindful of the amused face of Guildmaster following their exchange.

"Certainly not mine," Jack proclaimed.

Whisper snorted and made to respond, but was cut off by the Guildmaster.

"Despite your heroics this morning, you are still required to attend the scheduled rankings later today," he interrupted mildly. "I believe they start in half an hour?"

Whisper ducked her head and Jack flushed at being called out by the Guildmaster, before they rose and gave a short bow each. "Guildmaster," they intoned, after which they were dismissed with a quick nod.

The Guildmaster, Weaver, chuckled as they left the room. He hadn't enjoyed the antics of his students so much since Thunder and Scarlet Robe had been young Apprentices.

X

Klessan was laid out on her back, clutching at her sides, laughing at something Whisper had said to Duran while the mountain man (for he was a man of nearly 18 summers now) waved his hammer about in an exaggerated fashion as he strode back and forth, doing his utmost to keep a serious expression on his face and failing miserably. Jack, sprawled against a large oak next to Whisper, threw an apple core at the older boy, prompting him to him to turn on him with an affronted expression, eyebrows waggling furiously. The expression succeeded in breaking the two younger members of the group out of the strange mood they had been in for most of the morning, setting them to chuckling, as the four friends relaxed in the middle of the training grounds set aside for rankings.

"This wait is killing me," Klessan grumbled, looking over to a field where a small number of Apprentices were sparring under the watchful eyes of two Instructors.

"So you've said," Whisper replied dryly, "numerous times."

"Oh, like you don't want to get your turn out of the way too," Klessan waved her comment away. "We should have gotten to go first."

"Maybe," Duran agreed, the dread locked man leaning onto his hammer like a cane, "but then the Instructors wouldn't be able to enjoy your suffering."

"You say that like you don't believe it," Klessan shot back, flipping a lock of unruly brown hair that had escaped its tie out of her eyes. "You believe it, don't you Jack?" she asked, turning a beseeching gaze upon the younger boy.

The attention jerked Jack from the slight doze he'd slipped into. "I guess it's possible," he allowed. Seeing Klessan brighten at his apparent support, he prepared to continue with the gentle mocking of his friend, before an unwelcome chill rasped its way down his spine. He shuddered heavily, jerking into full wakefulness.

Whisper frowned, noting his reaction. "Farmboy, what-"

A dull roar blasted through the morning quiet, a pillar of black smoke rising from a point along the Guild wall to pollute the blue sky. Klessan gasped at the sight, while Duran's hammer found its way into his grip. Jack and Whisper shared a startled glance. Had they been wrong when they told the Guildmaster they had dealt with all the of bandits?

The Guild bell began to toll, calling all of its junior members back into the safety of the main complex. Trainees and Apprentices alike began to stream away from the fields, a few Instructors accompanying them, while the rest grouped together and moved for the now partially visible hole in the Guild wall. They moved with grim purpose as figures became visible in the smoke that still obscured part of the wall, forcefully reminding the younger Guild members watching that their Instructors were in fact Heroes who were well deserving of the title. As they moved into the smoke, Jack and his friends watched as the first invading figures were cut down without mercy—before another explosion, much smaller than the first, erupted within the ranks of the Instructors, hurling most back into the Guild grounds and undoubtedly killing some outright. An object the size of a fist was hurled from the smoke, aimed at Jack and his friends who had not yet moved for the safety of the Guild proper.

"Blast globe!" Whisper shouted in warning, already springing out of the way.

Time slowed and Jack's eyes tracked the small object as it flew through the air towards the group. He could feel the heat of the burning wick as the stench of rotten eggs washed over him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Klessan drawing her short sword back like a bat, waiting to hit the globe back at their attackers, just as he could see the flare on the wick burning perilously close to the end. Time began to resume its normal march and Jack reacted instinctively.

Will gathered, then pulsed, as Jack's most recently created expression of Will ended.. Clods of earth were thrown up before him as his Will reacted to his basic desire, a cone of pure force blasting forth to catch the explosive globe and hurl it back at the figure that had thrown it. The globe exploded as it connected, its contents spilling over the attacker and setting them ablaze. Agonised screams issued from the lingering smoke of the initial explosion as their foe collapsed next to one of the mangled bodies of their fallen Instructors and Jack staggered to one side, fatigued.

From behind the burning man, more enemies came. One stopped to put a dagger in an Instructor who was beginning to stir, slitting her throat neatly. The cold blooded killing broke the spell that gripped the group of Apprentices, and then they were moving.

Duran gave a bellow of rage and rushed the attackers, his main arm swelling in size, brandishing the sledgehammer he carried one handedly with frightening force, a dagger in his offhand. Seeing Jack's weakness and remembering his lack of rest, Whisper hesitated for a moment before the younger teen gestured for her to follow their large friend, while Klessan scrambled over to a bow that had been dropped during the evacuation, nimbly scavenging fallen arrows as she did so. As she reached the bow, she turned and put an arrow through the throat of an attacker in one smooth motion.

Jack faltered for a brief moment at his first clear view of their attackers. They were utterly foreign, their grey armour unlike any he had ever seen in the archives, made from a strange sort of animal hide, while their skin was paler than even Duran's, from the wintry far north, had been at the start of his Training. As the first attacker fell, clutching at the arrow in his throat, his comrades streamed past him, apparently uncaring of his fall. These men were clad in the same grey animal hide armour, several wearing helms mounted with the horns of some unknown beast.

One burly raider rushed at Duran to meet his charge, catching an over handed blow of his hammer on his shield, staggering slightly.. Duran made to disembowel his foe, tearing his dagger across the man's stomach, only to find the iron blade unable to penetrate the strange hide armour. An arrow took the raider in the shoulder, causing him to drop his blade from nerveless fingers and saving Duran from a deep leg wound. Wasting no time, Duran brought his hammer down again, shattering the shield and the foe behind it. The invader dropped to the ground, the side of his face a messy pulp. Two more attackers rushed Duran in his distraction, only to be intercepted by Whisper as she leaped over Duran, staff spinning to crack viciously against the jaw of one, catching a strike from the other in the same motion. Recovering, Duran crushed the first foe beneath his sledgehammer, while Klessan put another arrow into the chest of the second.

Even with five of the raiders downed in short order, more still came. Duran's augmentation of his arm failed, forcing him to wield his hammer two handed as he fended off more foes. Whisper's staff was a blur as she spun, deflecting the blows that Duran couldn't as they stood back to back. One raider ignored the two Apprentices assailed by his fellows to advance on Klessan, who was forced to rely on her short blade for defence, scavenged arrows spent.

His wind regained, Jack straightened and made for the man harrying Klessan, his longer blade and clear experience allowing him to corral her against a nearby fence. Crouching low, Jack brought his own short blade to bear, its tip seeking whatever gap in the raider's hide armour he could find. The man dropped to one knee, his calf pierced from behind. As he attempted to turn to face the new threat, the slight girl before him stabbed him through the eye, killing him instantly.

An oath of pain snapped Jack's attention back to his friends. One of the raiders had succeeded in piercing Duran's guard, leaving a crimson gash down his left arm. Whisper was desperately defending against three more foes, unable to come to her friend's aid as his defence faltered. A blade gleamed as it rose high, and in that moment Jack could see how it would come down and cleave Duran's head from his neck. Gathering his fading Will, Jack rushed to the mountain man's side.

Steel rang against iron as Jack blocked the killing blow, free hand bracing the flat of his blade. He yanked his sword to the side, nearly tearing his foe's weapon from their hands, as the superior sword had become embedded in the shorter blade. The world turned to grey around the young Apprentice, his Will spent, and he prepared to defend himself.

Then the world lit up in a cacophony of roaring light and seared flesh. Pillars of lightning erupted around the Apprentices, dancing amongst them as they consumed the raiders, leaving aught but ash in their wake. Then the lightning was gone, just as suddenly as it had appeared. The quietness was nearly overwhelming.

Boots crunched on gravel, the sound coming from the breach in the Guild wall. The four Apprentices turned to face the newcomer, and each nearly took a step back. The man who was the Guildmaster surveyed the carnage with a hawk-like eye, having cast aside the persona of the kindly old man. In his place stood Weaver, the Hero who had orchestrated the overthrow of the previous Guild leadership. Floating behind him were the unconscious but still living bodies of two raiders, the charred remains of their limbs testament to the control and viciousness of Weaver's assault on them.

Examining the corpses created by the four teens, he gave them a grim smile. "Good work, young Heroes. You have proven yourselves to be a credit to the Guild."

Jack swayed in exhaustion as the old man's words sunk in. He had called them Heroes.

Weaver held a glowing hand over the wound on Duran's arm, inspecting the flesh as it knit itself back together under his watchful eye. More Instructors were arriving on the scene, attending to their fallen fellows. One of them knelt next to the woman whose throat had been slit, and Jack thought he saw a glimmer of a golden phial.

"Report to Maze's office to receive your Guild Seal and accept your final instruction," Weaver continued, casually confirming the success of the ambition that had dominated the last several years of their lives. "I would perform this duty myself, but I have an interrogation to attend to." He cast an eye over his floating captives. "I do hope you understand."

"Heroes?" Klessan questioned numbly, standing shoulder to shoulder with Whisper.

The Guildmaster chuckled at their surprised expressions, observing them as the adrenaline of the fight left their systems. "Aye, lass. You have all performed admirably in the defence of our home, and displayed the skills required of any young Hero," he affirmed, before a hint of his more jovial personality shone through. "Of course, you could always wait several more months to take the Trials with your peers...?" he trailed off, noting their disgruntled expressions at the thought with a smile. "No, I thought not. Oh, and Master Jack?"

Jack focused on the Guildmaster with some effort, the roaring in his ears starting to fade. "Sir?"

"Do be aware that if you continue to exert your Will after draining your reserves as you did today it will undoubtedly kill you," the old man delivered calmly, handing him a small blue phial of potion. "Now, off to Maze with you. I have work to do."

The four newly minted Heroes stood to the side as the Guildmaster directed the bodies of his captives to float with him to a dark, rarely used door that led to a steep descending stairway. Rumour had it that it led to the Guild dungeons, and it would seem that in this case the rumours were true.

Downing the potion the Guildmaster had given him, Jack felt a wild grin spread across his face. This was it. They had finished their training.

They were Heroes.


	2. Begin

The ceremony heralding an Apprentice's rise to a Hero was a grand affair, held in the Chamber of Fate, honouring the new Heroes alongside their year mates while their juniors and the Hero who had first sponsored them watched on. Afterwards, the Apprentices were dismissed, and a celebration held, while gifts were given by the sponsors to their newest comrades. 

Jack and his fellows were surprised, therefore, when their summons to the quarters of the Head of the Guild resulted in a heavy pouch being thrown to each of them. 

“You understand why we won't be putting on an elaborate ceremony after the day's events,” Maze told them brusquely as he took a seat behind his desk, illuminated by the afternoon sun shining through an artfully arranged series of coloured window panes imitating the Guild Seal.

Opening the plain brown pouches, each new Hero felt a thrill as they caught glimpse of their Guild Seals, despite the disappointing news. Tracing his finger over the design, Jack felt the moment the Seal reached out and synced itself to his Will. 

“That's not to say you'll be short changed entirely, however,” Maze continued, “I can only imagine how outraged I myself would have been had I been told I would be missing out on my Hero celebration.”

The deadpan declaration by their near notoriously straight laced Guild Head brought amusement to the Heroes' faces. 

 

“Your sponsors have been alerted to the situation, and are on their way. Whisper, I believe your brother already awaits you in the Map Room.” Maze gave the suddenly anxious to be away Whisper an amused glance before continuing, “Klessan, Duran, your own sponsors will meet you in your quarters.” He gave them a quick nod. “That will be all.”

At the dismissal, Whisper, Klessan and Duran began to filter from the tower, while Jack remained behind uncertainly. 

“You utilised two new expressions of Will in the skirmish,” Maze noted coolly, sounding neither pleased or displeased. 

 

Jack started for a moment, before processing the change of topic. “Ah, yeah—the perception altering one I only just completed last night, but it's not as good as it could be yet.”

“Elucidate,” Maze ordered shortly. 

“It gives me more time to comprehend what's going on, but I still react at the same speed. It feels like trying to walk through a heavy current, and it can be tricky if I'm trying to move when the expression ends,” Jack expanded, his enthusiasm for the topic showing through. 

“You have an idea on how to compensate?” Maze asked. 

“I think I can work in my Quickening expression in a more concentrated form,” Jack answered. “It should allow me to move at what feels like a normal pace while my perception is enhanced. Weaving them together might be a bit tough, but if it works it'll open up a lot of room for improvement.”

“You haven't mentioned this Quickening to me before,” Maze told him with a frown. 

“It's a bit of a weird one,” Jack hedged. “Not so much an expression of Will as me using my Will reserves to postpone things like tiredness and sore muscles. I pay for it down the track.”

“I see,” Maze replied, thinking it over. “And the other?”

“Well,” Jack drew the word out, procrastinating. “It was just instinctive. I'm not sure what I did.”

Maze scowled outright. “You cannot exercise your Will in such a way. An experienced hostile Will user will feel the unrestrained manner of the expression and take advantage. How will this happen and how do you prevent it?” the arch mage demanded suddenly. 

“An enemy can take over an uncontrolled expression with their own Will and turn your expressions against you,” Jack recited, as he had uncounted times before. “You need to practise and engrave an expression onto your Will pathways to prevent this, or have a decisive Will advantage over your opponent.”

“Correct. I expect you to fully comprehend this force based expression before you attempt to use it in combat again,” Maze ordered. 

“Yes sir,” Jack replied dutifully. Maze's insistence on the matter had puzzled him from time to time, as the only conclusion he could come to regarding his many warnings was that it had happened to the arch mage himself at some point. It had surely happened years ago, as there were few Will practitioners who could compete with the formidable Head of the Guild these days, let alone outclass him. 

Maze was quiet for several long moments, pondering. “You have done well,” he said at length. “The ability to seemingly slow time around you will one day prove invaluable, I dare say. Your performance against the raiders was admirable, and your Heroic status most deserved. I am proud to have sponsored you into the Guild.”

For a long moment, Jack blinked at the overdose of praise from the normally sparing Guild Head. “Thank you sir,” he grinned with pride. 

“I haven't forgotten about your graduation gift either,” Maze waved his thanks off, rummaging through his desk draws and retrieving a worn and battered book, before extending it across to Jack. “My experiments in Will, from my youth. I imagine you may gain some use from them.”

Jack's eyes zeroed in on the book that Maze was offering him oh so casually. That book represented a direct look into the mind of one of the greatest Will users of the past century. He almost snatched the book in his eagerness, remembering himself only just in time. 

There was a hint of amusement in the old mage's face as he watched Jack struggle not to open the journal and begin reading then and there. “I expect you to learn, and then improve upon every expression within that journal,” he told him sternly. “Do so, and there shall be a reward for you.”

“Yes sir,” Jack nodded rapidly, clutching at the book almost possessively. 

“Your enthusiasm is noted, however I don't believe your friends will forgive you for abandoning your graduation celebration to read a book,” Maze said pointedly. “Perhaps it should remain in my possession for the time being, lest it be ruined by drink?”

“That's not necessary,” Jack answered quickly. “I can take care of it.” The young Hero scowled as further amusement appeared on his sponsor's face. The normally humourless man had actually been teasing him. “If that's all sir?”

“Yes, that is all,” Maze gestured to the tower stairs. “Join your friends. Revel in your youth.”

Jack nearly ran from the tower in his enthusiasm, spirits high from the events of the day. Had he taken a moment to glance back, he would have seen an expression of cautious optimism on the Guild Head's face. For the first time in some years, the mage was beginning to feel something almost tangible—hope. 

Tearing his mind from his woes, Maze turned his attention to smaller matter of the raid on the Guild. There was only one response for the foolish attack, of course. He could only wish that all his troubles were so easily solved. 

If only he knew. 

 

X x X

Jack's graduation celebration would always be a hazy blur of good feeling in his mind, even years later. His last clear memory was of helping their Instructors bring food and drink to a room set aside for himself and his friends, receiving cheerful introductions to Duran and Klessan's sponsors, before Whisper called him over excitedly, gesturing for him to try her drink. Maze and Thunder were not there of course, being too busy in the wake of the raid, but that was no reason not to enjoy themselves, and the mead really was quite pleasant...

 

...Duran was holding a handstand atop an open keg, egged on by Klessan and several Instructors as he began doing upright push ups, dunking his head into the keg each time...

…“Turn and fight, foul knave!” Klessan demanded imperiously from her perch on an Instructor's shoulders, brandishing a long loaf of bread as they chased another pair around the room...

...a muffled BOOM shook the room as the roast turkey exploded, the force sending Jack staggering back several paces as pieces of poultry showered the room. Groaning at the jeering that filled the room, Jack wondered why he ever thought using his Will to reheat the turkey was a good idea...

...the pair of them were curled up in before the fireplace in a deep, cushioned armchair, the only two in the room still awake. Moonlight shone in through a window, illuminating Whisper's face as she looked up at him. Feeling almost like it was happening to someone else, Jack clasped her chin gently and tilted her head back as he leaned forward. Her lips were soft...

 

X x X

“Get up, boy,” an unwelcome voice intruded upon Jack's sleep, accompanied several moments later by a poke in the ribs. “On your feet.”

Jack groaned and twisted into a more comfortable position, wondering when his bed had shrunk several sizes. 

There was an impatient sigh. “If you don't rise within the next five seconds, I'll select your first Quest for you and leave you to salvage a Name from whatever horrible task I can find,” the voice threatened, before pausing thoughtfully. “The Guild pens need cleaning. How does 'Chicken Chaser' sound to you?”

Reality began to set in, and Jack was on his feet with a dignified, manly exclamation of surprise. Maze stood before him, leaning against the side of the fireplace with an amused expression. Looking about the otherwise empty room, Jack could see the remnants of the party, including what looked like chicken splattered all across one wall. 

“Yes, I thought that might get you up,” Maze commented dryly. “Now pull yourself together, you're very nearly running late.”

Jack shook the cobwebs from his head. “Running late for what?”

“Your first Quest, boy!” Maze nearly barked. 

Fully awake now, Jack grinned brightly, nearly bouncing on his feet. “Where're the others?”

“Whisper departed with her brother just after first light,” Maze replied, pushing himself away from the wall, “and Klessan with her sponsor one bell ago. Duran, however, is still in the Map Room. I believe he is waiting for you.”

Disappointed that he had slept passed two of his friends departures and feeling a curious yearning to see Whisper again, Jack set his mind to more pressing matters. “I'll need to pack,” he muttered. 

A small, deceivingly heavy sack hit him in the chest. He nearly fumbled the catch, surprised by the weight. “Sir?”

“Your belongings, and initial supplies. I took the liberty of gathering them this morning, and for Skorm's sake boy, find a better hiding place for that journal of mine than beneath your mattress.”

Jack ducked his head at the reprimand, before turning a doubtful gaze at the small bag. “This has all my starting supplies in it?” he asked dubiously, looking to Maze for confirmation. 

The archmage looked between him and the bag with a flat expression. Accepting the unspoken chastisement, Jack opened the bag and started at the space he could see inside. Reaching in, his arm sunk down past his elbow before his fingers scrabbled against fabric. He could hear potions clinking against each other as he examined the bag, and the scent of several fresh loaves of bread floated up to him. He looked at his sponsor in astonishment. 

“I was perusing my old travel journals,” Maze began by way of explanation, “and came across an early passage dedicated entirely to griping about the woes of lugging about an unspeakably heavy travel pack.”

“So you wanted to spare me the trouble?” Jack asked, surprised at the sympathetic action. 

“No. I also complained about it at length to my mentor of the time. This is purely to avoid future headaches,” Maze revealed, straight faced. 

Jack stared at his sponsor. “Thanks,” he replied at length, dryly. 

Maze grunted in response, moving away from the fireplace entirely. “On your way, boy. There's a whole world out there waiting for you,” the old man said as he left the room, his words hanging in the air behind him like a warning, or a promise. 

X x X

“Duran,” Jack said by way of greeting, as he approached his friend in the Map Room. 

“Jack,” Duran replied easily, looking him over. The larger man was seated upon a bulky, heavy looking travelling pack leaning against the stair wall. He was clad in brown trousers and wore a stiff leather jerkin over a plain white shirt, and his white dreadlocks had been fastened into a ponytail. At his side sat an engraved iron hammer, glowing softly with the tell tale light of an augmentation. “You'll still need to gather your travel gear then?”

Jack shook his head, patting the strap of the sack that was slung over his shoulder. “Got everything right here,” he replied, before looking over his rumpled appearance and reconsidering. “I'll need to change though. And buy a new blade at some point.”

“Might need that,” Duran agreed, accepting his word on his supplies. “We need to talk, though.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked, tilting his head to the side.

“You saved my life yesterday,” Duran began bluntly. “I owe you.”

Jack frowned, uncomfortable with the idea of having his friend indebted to him. 

“I will make you a blade,” the mountain man proposed, “and we will call it even.”

“A blade?” Jack asked, somewhat confused. 

“I could wait, and follow you for as long as it took to save your life in return, or I could make you a blade that will save you again and again,” Duran revealed. “A blade you can trust will serve us both better, I think.”

“Where did this come from?” Jack asked curiously. “I didn't know you could forge weapons.”

“It is a custom among my clan, and I cannot. I will have to be guided by my father,” Duran told him. “Do you accept?”

“Well, yeah,” Jack replied, at a loss for any other response.

“Oh good,” Duran sighed, slumping. “I was worried you wouldn't agree.”

“What if I hadn't?” Jack wanted to know, somewhat bemused.

“I would have had to follow you around until I saved your life,” Duran repeated matter of factly. “And that would just be awkward.” 

“Fair enough then,” Jack replied with a laugh. “Have you looked at the Quests?”

“I did,” Duran began enthusiastically, “and there's one I think we should take. It's a bit beyond the norm for a first time quest, but between the two of us we can handle it easily.”

“Which one is it?” the younger Hero asked, moving over to the map of Albion that dominated the centre of the room. Dotting the map, from Oakvale in the south all the way up to Bargate Prison in the north, were Quest cards, each bearing their basic details for curious Heroes. If a quest card interested a Hero, they then took the card to the Records Room, where further information was stored. 

“Here,” Duran plucked a card from the river that ran past Bowerstone, all the way from the eastern mountains to the ocean. “The barges that take ore from the mines to Bowerstone have been raided by bandits a few more times than is usual over the last few months, and the mine owners want someone to deal with it.”

“They want someone to track down the bandit camp and sort things out?” Jack asked.

Duran shook his head. “The next barge going upstream is carrying the pay for the miners for the last three months. They're sure the bandits are going to hit it, and they want extra protection. The quest is to make sure the gold gets where it's going.”

“And make sure whoever makes a grab for it doesn't live to regret it,” Jack added.

“That's it. We have to get upriver in any case, so we might as well take a quest that gets us there.”

“Looks like we have ourselves a Quest,” Jack said with a grin. 

“I'll go sign us up for it, you finish up whatever you need to?” Duran suggested with a grin of his own. 

“Meet you outside in a quarter of a bell?” Jack replied.

“Done and done. Let's get to it.”

X x X

A full litre of adrenaline coursed through Jack's system as he stepped through the imposing main doors of the Guild. He took a deep breath, adjusted the cheap iron blade on his back, and took the first steps on his journey to greatness—promptly trodding in dog shit.

At his side, Duran coughed hastily, unsuccessfully attempting to hide his amusement. Jack tried his luck at silencing him with a glare, but was wholly ineffective. He gave up with an exaggerated eye roll, scraping the dog shit from his boot on the grass to the side of the well worn path. 

“Come on,” Duran commented, recovered from his amusement. “Bowerstone is a hard day's travel away, and we need to be there by the tenth bell tonight, or we're camping in the woods.”

“They don't allow entrance after that?” Jack asked as they began a quick stride along the long sloping path that led away from the Guild. 

“Only if you're known to the guards,” Duran confirmed. “In a good way, that is,” he added quickly, giving a nod to a passing trader. The trader nodded back without making eye contact and hurried past. “Being Heroes won't help us out either,” the big man continued. “Not until we earn ourselves a bit of renown or attract the interest of a bard.”

“This quest should help us there then,” Jack observed. “Being that we're helping out the town.”

“Maybe,” Duran allowed, hoisting his pack more comfortably. “Bowerstone sees a more Heroes than most places though, so we'll likely get more recognition in the mining villages—that's if we get the bandits, of course,” the dreadlocked man said with a grin. 

“Ten silver pieces says I get more bandits than you,” Jack challenged instantly. 

“Done,” Duran agreed confidently. 

The pair fell into a comfortable silence as they walked, passing the occasional trader or fellow traveller. Their path continued to follow a moderate incline, until Jack chanced a glance behind himself and was startled to see the Guild lay out in the distance, its walls stretching out from the main keep. He could just make out a number of small figures moving about the hole that had been blasted through the wall the previous day, already working to repair the damage. 

It wasn't the first time the Guild itself had been attacked, and it wouldn't be the last—although it was the first time that sort of damage had been done. Jack shrugged off the faint sliver of worry that came with an attack on his home. It was the Heroes Guild, not Oakvale. No force of bandits or strangely armed raiders would ever be able to raze it to the ground. 

“You haven't been out this way before, have you?” Duran remarked, breaking nearly a bell's worth of silence. 

“I've gone deeper into the Guild woods, but I haven't left the grounds proper since I enrolled,” Jack shook his head. Maze was not one for casual outings, and if an Apprentice wanted to leave the Guild grounds, their sponsor's presence was required. “No reason to, really,” he finished. 

Duran grunted, aware of the reasons behind Jack's previous lack of interest in life outside the Guild. “Just wait till we reach Lookout Point. You can see from Bowerstone to the edge of Greatwood.”

 

X

Some hours of trekking later, the two Heroes arrived at Lookout Point. The sun had fallen from its zenith, bathing the land about them in an orange glow. Surrounding the Point was a copse of trees, the centre cleared as a resting place for travellers and dominated by a large statue. They were not alone at the famous landmark; a pair of blue uniformed guards patrolled idly while a small Traders caravan took their rest under the shade after the arduous (for the untrained) climb to reach the Point while a trio of spaced out fishermen were slumped on one of the available benches, giggling aimlessly and making sweeping gestures to each other. 

“That's Neltran, the cartographer,” Duran nodded to the statue. “The tales say he scaled every height and explored every depth of Albion. Legend has it he destroyed a bandit army by getting them lost in an underground Old Kingdom labyrinth.”

“Where did you hear that?” Jack asked curiously. He had come across the name several times before, but only as a consequence of his research into powerful Heroes, of which Neltran was not. He hadn't known Duran had held anything beyond cursory interest into past Heroes.

“He's my great great uncle,” Duran said with a hint of pride. “The clan still uses his maps today.”

“You never mentioned,” Jack observed, unsurprised. Some Apprentices made great fanfare out of being related to this or that Hero.

Duran shrugged. He had never been one to boast idly. “Come on,” he gestured to a small path leading away from the main clearing. “You want to see this.”

The path they followed did not lead them far, only through the trees surrounding the Point. It curved around a particularly thick grouping of trees, and then revealed what Duran had brought him to see.

Jack sucked in a short breath, surprised by the view laid out for him. The path cut off abruptly at a cliff edge, several hundred metres of empty space dropping down before them. What earned his attention, however, was the great expanse stretching out as far as he could see.

Lookout Point left a long shadow in the afternoon sun, its tip stretching out towards the Heroes Guild. The great building appeared no larger than a thumbnail at this distance, and was almost swallowed by the landscape around it. Beyond it, the Pyrepeak mountains loomed imposingly over Albion, stretching the length of the land as they did, their snow capped peaks shining under the dying rays of the sun. 

To the south, he could see the immense reaches of Greatwood forest, its fingers almost enveloping the Point itself. He could almost make out the sinister border that marked the end of Greatwood and the beginning of Darkwood, the ill storied forest somehow escaping the light of the sun. Beyond it, however, lay his home town of Oakvale, rebuilt after the night of fire and steel so many years ago. He turned away, unwilling to revisit the memories of the destruction of his childhood home.

The north was empty of great forests, filled instead with grassy plains and meandering waterways. On one of these waterways sat Bowerstone, stone walls rising up to make themselves seen even at this distance. He cast his gaze further north still, and although he could not see it, Jack knew that if one were to wander past the grass plains, where the cold smothered all but the hardiest of plant life before it could begin, they would find a forbidding, rocky island, where stood an old, scarred prison, used to hold the most degenerate of criminals for whom execution was too good. Bargate Prison was the source of many a horror tale, and for good reason. If even a fraction of the stories of the place were true, Jack would have a hard time wishing anyone there.

“That's some view,” Jack said at length, absorbing the sight. 

Duran made a noise of agreement, before falling into silence as they admired the view. It was only when the shadow of the Point lengthened further that he spoke up again. “We should get moving. We still have some ground to cover.”

Jack almost groaned at the thought of more walking. Well, at least it would be mostly downhill. 

X x X

Thousands of crickets came alive as the sun dripped below the horizon. A pair of faerie lights illuminated the traveller's path as they trudged along the final approach to Bowerstone. Wearied by the quickened pace of the day's travel despite their good cheer, the two Heroes slowed as they approached the guard station that sat before the main gates of the town. 

“Halt, newcomer, and state your business,” came the unfriendly greeting from the guardhouse. A moment later, two guards emerged from within, one younger, in a blue uniform, the one who had spoken, and an elder, grey haired guard in a black uniform who made his was using a sheathed sword as a cane. 

“We're Heroes, here for a Quest,” Duran stated confidently, cutting off the flow of Will that kept his fae light active. At his side, Jack merely dimmed his own, guiding it into his sleeve.

“Dunloo mulah hiro temeh,” the older guard mumbled, bringing a chuckle from his partner.

“He said you don't look much like Heroes to him,” the first guard rumbled, seeing their confused faces. 

“Yeah, well, doesn't look like you can see much at all, old timer,” Jack muttered back, irritated.

The grey haired guard, hearing apparently unimpaired in his old age, let out a monstrous fart in response. Duran and Jack took a full step back, faces screwed up in disgust, while both guards laughed boisterously at their response.

“I am Kendall,” the younger guard introduced himself, friendlier now, “and this is Karl. If you wish for entry to Bowerstone, you will be required to relinquish your weapons. Also be aware that none of those fancy Will tricks will work within the town walls. Are we understood?”

Jack and Duran exchanged a glance after the spiel, before nodding their assent to the guards. Duran reluctantly handed his hammer over, while Jack shrugged the strap holding his blade to his back off easily. It wasn't like he'd miss it. 

A third, red clad guard emerged from the guardhouse, leaving a loaded crossbow behind him, startling the two Heroes from their complacency. 

Kendall took note of their reaction and smirked, but said nothing as his fellow guard took their weapons. 

“Yeh mebbe hiroos, bet yeh stall bond teh tha law. Kep tha pess, and well get long jes fen,” Karl spoke in warning, his tone forbidding even through his accent.

Kor and Duran felt their spines straightening subconsciously. “Yessir,” they replied dutifully. 

“Hmph,” Karl grumbled. “Sahm hop fer yeh yit.”

A great ponderous groan issued from the town gates as they swung open. 

“Welcome to Bowerstone,” Kendall said by way of goodbye as they stepped through the gates. “Have a pleasant stay.”

“What was that about?” Jack asked Duran as they passed a second, smaller set of gates.

The big man shrugged. “Making sure we knew who was boss? I can't see them trying that with Thunder, though,” he chuckled.

Jack considered for a moment. “Likely they wouldn't have to. Thunder is a known law abiding Hero, but we're still novices. Maybe that's their way of deciding who to allow in?”

Duran blinked. “That's a good point,” he admitted, and then their speculation was cut short as they emerged into Bowerstone proper. 

For Jack, having lived within the walls of the Guild since the attack on his home, his first glimpse of the Bowerstone marketplace was a startling one. Peddlers and merchants hawked their wares, having come from all over Albion to do so. A fish monger who shared Klessan's tanned complexion turned an enormous side of fish on an open grill, adding to the myriad of mouthwatering scents floating through the evening air. Taking up a corner of the sprawling marketplace on its own was an open air forge, a bare chested blacksmith covered in tattoos working the bellows while a small crowd of children watched with interest as they took advantage of the forge's warmth. The sheer presence of the bustling mass of people bore down on the young Hero before he adjusted to the new experience.

“Come on,” Duran was saying. “I know a decent inn not far away.”

X

Decent, as it turned out, was a generous assessment of the inn—and the price per bed provided by a surly innkeeper were anything but. Duran had been forced to lead Jack away from the bar after the younger man had started an argument with the owner over the quality of the inn. 

“Arsehole,” Jack muttered irritably, his temper already burning out. 

“They were better last time I was here,” Duran shrugged apologetically. “Prices are probably up because of the Night Markets,” he added, referring to the monthly event that was filling the streets that night. “Still got plenty of time to find another inn,” he finish, unconcerned. It wasn't worth getting worked up over.

“You're the one who knows the town,” Jack allowed, calmed now. “If nothing else, we still have our bedrolls,” he pointed out. 

“True,” Duran agreed, although he would much prefer to find a proper bed after the day's travel. “Let's go find some food first though.”

Jack agreed with the suggestion wholeheartedly. A day's worth of travel with only a few pieces of cold meat with cheese and a hunk of bread was enough to leave any young Hero famished. 

The Night Markets of Bowerstone left them spoiled for choice. Small morsels from each vendor cost them only coppers, giving the two friends leave to sample tastes from all over Albion. The fare at the Guild was often superior, but the cost of regularly attaining some of the foods available that night left them reserved for special occasions. Jack and Duran took full advantage, wandering through the town as they took in the sights. 

The gates to the upper class Bowerstone North were barred, of course—it wouldn't do to risk the gathering of the common rabble spilling onto the neatly paved streets and rousing the richer residents from their delicate sleep. It seemed that the slums proper had been tidied up for the occasion too, giving travellers room to revel and dance to the tune provided by a small group of minstrels and bards. 

Uncomfortable amidst the whirling mass of people, Jack stepped away from the crowd, searching for some open space. He was leaning against a low stone wall when a flicker of furtive movement caught his eye. He watched as a group of men slipped from the shadows of a row of houses, darting quickly through the archway that led to the quay. Whistling two quick notes to Duran that the dreadlocked man would recognise, he gestured with a nod of his head, pointing out the last of the men to his friend. Curiosity roused, the pair made their way to the quay entrance, slipping through once they were sure that the few guards patrolling the crowds were looking elsewhere. 

The dock area itself was almost deserted, save for an old woman pottering about a small shanty house and a scattering of chickens. The quay itself stretched along the river for some hundred metres, several wooden docks extending from it, boats tied securely in their berths. There was no sign of the group they had seen entering the area, however, and the boats were still. 

A flicker of light caught their attention. Through the high window of a warehouse tucked away against the town wall, they could see a single lantern burning brightly. Exchanging a glance, the two Heroes approached the building, unsure of what they might find. A small door, set within the much larger main doors, was slightly ajar. Pushing it open cautiously, Jack stuck his head inside. 

All movement within the building stopped, as the twelve or so men within turned to look at the newcomers. They were arrayed around a series of crates that had been arranged in a rough circle, while two of their fellows stood within, one bleeding from a cut to the mouth. All were bare chested, and many had some manner of material strapped around their knuckles. 

“Can we help you?” one of the men asked, his tone confident as he padded towards them. He was bald save for a spiked mohawk running across his head, and his left shoulder was covered by a dragon tattoo. 

“We saw you sneak into the quay,” Jack answered with a shrug. “We got curious.”

“Is that so? Well then, let me be the first to welcome you to the Bowerstone Fist Fighters Gang,” the apparent leader greeted them with a mocking half bow. “My name is Rund. Now, which one of you will be the one to fight?”

“Who says we're here to fight?” Duran challenged.

“What we do here isn't exactly legal,” Rund chuckled darkly, his amusement echoed by the other members of the gang, “and we have a few rules to keep what we do quiet. Since this is your first night here...you have to fight.”

While always up for a good fight, Duran baulked at being forced into something on principle. “And you're going to stop us going to the guards how?” he asked bluntly. 

“Why would we do that? Sure, you could go find a guard, persuade them that there is a group of men beating each other up and bring them back here while we wait patiently for your return,” Rund told him sarcastically. “Then you could spend the rest of the night answering questions about why you wasted the guards time instead of recovering from the day's rigours in a comfortable bed...” he trailed off when he saw just how little that scenario appealed to the two. “Or you could front a small fee, get your fists bloody, smash a few skulls, and maybe walk away with a nice pouch of gold.”

The mention of gold piqued their interest. Beyond the starting funds provided to them by the Guild, the two Heroes wouldn't see any more until they had completed their upcoming Quest. 

“How much is the entry fee?” Duran asked, almost reluctantly.

Rund grinned. “Thirty silver per fighter. Will you both enter and double your chances, or place your hopes on one man?”

Jack and Duran exchanged a glance. The entry fee was nearly a third of their personal funds. 

“You fight, and we split the fee and the winnings?” Jack offered. Back at the Guild, Duran had always won their spars when they kept purely to melee weapons. 

Duran nodded, slipping his travel pack from his shoulders before dropping it to the ground with a thud. He began digging around in it, looking for his money pouch, while Jack sifted through his enhanced pouch. Each finding what they were looking for, Jack counted out twenty silver coins to Duran's ten, handing them over to Rund. 

“Very good,” Rund smirked. “You're up next. Try not to get hurt too badly.”

The two men in the ring of crates had begun fighting again, pummelling each other with great vigour. They weren't terribly large or fit men; one could have been a schoolteacher and the other looked like a store clerk, but that didn't stop them from doing their utmost to knock the other on their back. Their fellows cheered them enthusiastically, some jumping up on the crates for a better view.

Duran shrugged off his leather jerkin and rested it beside his pack, before doing the same with his shirt to leave him bare chested like the other fighters. He began to stretch, loosening muscles that were stiff and sore from travel. 

“Don't lose,” Jack warned him, before leaving him to wait as he climbed one of the stacks of crates that lined the walls, ostensibly searching for a better vantage point. When he found a comfortable position however, near the top of the crates and well above the heads of the other spectators, he reached into his pouch and withdrew a book. He settled down to read by the light of the lantern that had first drawn their attention to the warehouse. 

The taller Hero shook his head, amused but not all that surprised as his friend completely ignored the boxing match he had money on in favour of a new book. He took his dreadlocks out of the pony tail they had been in for the day, before retying them more tightly so as to keep them out of the way. Within the fighting circle, one of the men fell to cheers and boos and Rund caught his eye and invited him into the ring with a sweeping gesture. Duran vaulted the ring of crates and landed in the ring beside the victor of the previous match. He grinned down at the smaller man, who swallowed as he looked up at him. Duran cracked his knuckled and brought his guard up, an anticipatory smile on his face. He had some aggression to work through, and imagining the overcharging innkeeper in his opponent's stead would be a good start.

Up on his perch, Jack tuned out the smack of fists into flesh in order to focus on his book. Maze's journal was fantastically engaging; a fountain of ideas. He had tried reading it during the day's march, but found himself stopping repeatedly in order to read it properly. Now that he had a moment to himself, he wasn't going to waste any more time that could be spent broadening his knowledge of the Will. 

So far, the book wasn't quite what he had expected. The first several chapters only recorded one actual Will expression; focusing instead on the archmage's experiments in expanding his capacity for Will. His glance flicked away from the book long enough to see Duran lift a man off his feet with a blow to the stomach, before returning. This type of detailed instruction was not Maze's normal style either—usually he was given a few separate tid bits of information and forced to come up with the entire picture himself. His sponsor was a big believer in leaving students to puzzle things out for themselves, thinking the experience worth more—and it was. Unfortunately, Jack couldn't yet see the hidden lesson in the book's words. 

He frowned as he read over a somewhat dubious passage. That didn't sound right at all—and there, that passage was downright wrong! His frown deepened as he flicked back through the pages, returning to the single Will expression detailed so far, a common fireball. Rereading the guide with keener eyes, he spotted another inconsistency. He worked through the simple expression mentally, trying to get a feel for it as Maze had had him do with several other basic expressions before. 

Below, Duran booted a man square in the face, knocking him into the ring of crates. Rund pinched the bridge of his nose and pointed to yet another man. At this rate, they'd be out of members and he'd have to fight the newcomer himself. 

Jack scowled outright as he finished thinking the fireball expression through. With the instructions provided, he might conjure fire—of course, he'd also likely blow himself up in the process. He regarded the book with considerably less warmth than he had several minutes previous. He would have to study and cross examine each and every passage in the Skorm cursed book, just to make sure it wasn't leading him astray. 

He sent a series of uncharitable thoughts at his sponsor. The old man had done this on purpose, obviously. He didn't know why he had expected such a gift of knowledge to be straightforward, but at least there was the promised reward waiting for him once he learned all it had to offer. Jack sighed, returning the book to his bag and turning his attention to his friend.

Duran and Run circled each other on the dirt floor, neither yet willing to make a move. The Hero was bleeding freely from a cut above his brow and tired from the consecutive bouts fought, already weary from the day's travel. At the beginning of the final bout, Rund, seeing his opponent's condition clearly, had attempted to finish the fight quickly, rushing Duran almost before the match began. He had gotten a few good hits in too, hammering the dreadlocked man's ribcage before Duran had caught him in a bear hug, lifting him from the ground and head butting him viciously. Rund had succeeded in breaking Duran's hold, but not before the damage was done. His nose bled profusely, clearly broken. It was that exchange that lead them to their current impasse. 

Duran's patience ended first. He darted forward with a speed that belied his large stature, fists swinging. Rund dropped and rolled to the side in an effort to avoid the blows, before exploiting Duran's lack of balance with a sweep of his leg. The mountain man struck out as he fell, only to hit dirt as Rund rolled away from the blow again. 

Flipping himself over, Duran rose to all fours and launched himself at Rund with a snarl, catching the other man about his midsection and bearing him to the ground. He hit him once, twice, before grasping the pinned man by the head as he prepared to smash his skull into the dirt. 

“Give! I give!”

Duran released his foe and rose to his feet, breathing heavily. On the ground, Run rolled to his side and propped himself up with one arm, his free hand pressed to his face. The cheering and hooting of the defeated spectators had fallen silent as they watched their felled leader. 

Run clambered unsteadily to his feet and stumbled over to Duran. The leader of the fight club grasped the Hero's hand and raised it into the air; proclaiming the victor. There was a brief pause, and then the rest of the fighters shouted their approval. Duran raised his other hand, soaking in the adulation as he roared back.

In his perch above their heads, Jack rolled his eyes at the spectacle. His friend was often mistaken to be the quiet, contemplative type, usually by those who hadn't seen him in any sort of competition. Jack, however, knew better. He sighed, vacating his perch and hopping down the tall pile of crates. He would have to speak to Rund about their winnings—there was a very real chance Duran would get caught up in his victory and forget all about the money involved.

X x X

Dawn's first light saw Jack and Duran double checking their packs by the quay, the business of the morning picking up around them. Three two decked river barges were the centre of activity, working traipsing back and forth as they loaded them up with cargo. 

Duran's victory over the fist fighter's gang left them with an appreciable amount of extra coin, enabling them to make several prudent purchases. Duran's pack now jingled with the weight of several extra potions, while Jack sported a new pair of iron bracers. 

Despite their purchases, they still had more coin than they had started out with, leaving the young Heroes in good cheer—the Guild gave its graduates enough money to make a start, but it wasn't enough to live on for any amount of time. The arrival of several Guards clustered around a Trader drew their attention, and one of the Black guards beckoned them over. It was Karl, the gate guard from the previous evening.

“Pheh, Hiroo,” Karl scowled by way of greeting. “Yeh Quest. Yeh prollem now.”

The cantankerous old guard turned to one of the Blue guards at his back and jerked his head towards the Heroes, and the Blue approached them with a familiar pair of weapons. Duran nearly snatched his hammer from the guard in his haste to get it back, while Jack accepted his as it was offered. Both men secured the weapons across their backs, and the guards walked away without further comment, Karl leading the way. The guards stationed at the entrance to the quay began to keep a closer eye on the now armed Heroes, wary of the unknown Guild members. 

“Am I to presume you two ruffians to be the Heroes I arranged for my protection?” the Trader demanded, his elaborate moustache bristling indignantly. It continued to twitch even after the man had finished speaking, seemingly possessed of a life of its own. 

Jack and Duran exchanged a glance, unsure of how to respond. 

“Well?” the Trader demanded. “Speak up!”

Jack set his jaw belligerently and made to tell the Trader exactly where he could stick his protection, but thought better of it at the last second. 

“The Quest card made no mention of protecting people,” Duran said, his tone light. “We're only here to make sure that lockbox gets where it's going,” he finished, nodding towards the heavy looking chest clutched possessively in the Trader's arms. It was undoubtedly the miner's pay that they had been tasked to escort. 

“And kill all the murderous bandits out for your blood. Don't forget that part,” Jack added with a smile, unwilling to let the man's manner go without comment.

“Hmph. So you claim,” the Trader sniffed. “Your names?”

“Jack.”

“Duran.”

“Never heard of you,” the Trader replied, looking down his nose at them. “I suppose you'll have to suffice, however. I am Trader Thornbull, and we are running late. I bid you good day.”

Giving the Heroes a final parting inspection, the Trader bustled off, shouting commands at his people, half of which went unheeded in the hustle of the morning's work. 

“Skorm take all greedy merchants,” Jack grumbled as they approached the river barge that would be taking them to the mountain mines. 

Duran shrugged, amused at his friend's irritation. “We won't have to deal with him much, at least.”

“Do we need to talk to anyone?” Jack questioned as they climbed over a stretch of netting that connected the barge to the dock. Duran had been the one to read over and accept the Quest card, which in hindsight he probably should have done as well. 

“The miners hired a group of rushers to protect the barge after the first few bandit attacks. I reckon we should talk to them if nothing else,” Duran replied, hefting his pack more comfortably over his shoulder as they clambered over the side of the barge. He spotted a no-nonsense looking woman directing dockworkers as they lugged various crates up a row of planks that stretched from dock to barge. 

The woman spotted them as they approached, her demeanor stern. “You two,” she demanded, “why are you not—ah. You would be the Heroes my good for nothing brother arranged for.”

“That would be us,” Duran answered, the two young men subconsciously standing straighter before her penetrating gaze. 

“I am Mistress Ivory,” the middle aged woman introduced herself. There were faint frown lines above her brow and just a touch of grey at her temples, but she still retained much of what would have been great beauty in her youth. “We cleared a cabin above decks for your use, but we were only expecting one Hero and we won't be clearing another, so you'll have to make do,” Mistress Ivory told them shortly. “I trust that will be satisfactory?” she asked, almost daring them to disagree. 

“More than,” Jack assured the somewhat intimidating woman who was clearly the one in charge of the operation. She surveyed the 16 year old severely before turning to Duran, who also nodded his understanding.

“The Quest card mentioned some support we might have?” Duran asked politely, although not with the deference Jack had shown. He was two years older, and the senior Hero on the Quest—not a mere employee being paid by the hour. 

Mistress Ivory hmm'd, showing her displeasure. “If they ever arrive,” she said, her lips pursed. A commotion at the other end of the barge, two workers yelling at each other, drew the matronly woman's attention. “If you will excuse me,” she said, stalking off to the shouting men with purpose. As she drew near, they quietened, although their argument continued. 

The above deck cabins that Mistress Ivory had mentioned were located at the rear of the barge, lining the end. The cabins were not particularly large, but neither were they cramped. There were three total, each large enough for a small family to sleep in with little trouble. To one side, there was a gap between the last cabin and the edge of the barge, a staircase leading to the lower deck and the communal sleeping area located there. 

Unlinke most river barges, which relied on oarsmen, sails, or long poles for propulsion, the mountain mines left their owners rich enough to easily afford the best. A pair of great paddle wheels sat on either side of each barge; an innovation that was still somewhat new to river travel in Albion. A team of men could take shifts on the paddle wheels, cranking them day and night to power the barge upstream. 

Jack and Duran made their way to the one cabin that didn't already have belongings piled outside the door, and found it unlocked. It was a simple affair; a narrow bed and a single rickety dresser was the extent of the furniture. There was a brief scuffle as both young men dove for the bed that ended when Duran very nearly threw Jack over his shoulder after the swifter Hero darted in front of him. Duran grinned smugly as he stretched out on the bed, Jack scowling back as he retrieved his bedroll from within his larger-on-the-inside pouch. 

Having nothing else to unpack, Jack left the cabin while Duran rustled within his pack for some item or another. Stepping back into the organised chaos of the main deck, Jack dodged out of the way of a pair of cursing dockworkers who were just finishing dragging a heavy net over several stacks of luggage that were stowed atop the cabins. As they left, Jack jumped onto the barge railing, balancing precariously in place, before leaping up to grab the edge of the net and haul himself up to the top of the luggage stacks, where he perched with his legs dangling over the river. Retrieving the book on Will Maze had gifted him with, he lay back using his pouch as a pillow and began to read, soaking up the rays of the early morning sun. 

As he read, Jack began to enjoy the challenge provided by his sponsor's journal. As it discussed different ways to prepare Will channels, Jack felt himself becoming drawn in even as he spotted the occasional error in reasoning or dubious statement that Maze had left for him. The way his sponsor spoke of deepening certain Will channels or repeating a specific expression to encourage Will development along a desired path to enable more powerful spells later in life was fascinating. So engrossed in the book as he was, he was nearly startled off his perch and into the water when a shrill series of whistles broke his concentration. Looking up, he saw that much of the bustle around the docks had come to a stop, and the crews of the river barges were preparing to cast off. 

Almost in unison, the paddle wheels on one side of each barge began to spin, and Jack felt a giddy rush of excitement as they pulled away from the dock. His first Quest had official begun. 

X

Quests were slow, monotonous and almost universally boring. 

At least, that was Jack's experience of them so far. For much of the day, he had alternated between reading Maze's journal and watching the riverbanks glide past. 

There had been some excitement earlier in the day as they left the boundaries of Bowerstone proper, and Jack had felt the connection to his Will come rushing back. The colours of the world had never seemed so vibrant, nor the sounds so crisp. The taste of a cold breakfast of meat and cheese lingering on his tongue had hit him all over again, only tasting like it had been prepared for a nobleman's table. The fae light he had tucked under his collar the previous evening had drifted back out, energised by the joy he had felt in his Will. Bright even under the morning sun, Jack had come to his senses and clamped down on his Will after the light conjuring expression had started drawing attention from the crew.

Since then, however, the day had been naught but dull drudgery, broken only by managing a small Will expression he had found in the journal that prevented the sun's rays from cooking him to a crisp as he lay atop the barge's luggage. 

Duran had almost appeared to enjoy the lack of activity on their parts, leaning against the railing to watch the scenery pass without comment. That had lasted until a trio of young women had approached him, daughters of various Traders heading for the mines, and begun chatting, seemingly interested in the way he had dreadlocked his hair. Jack noted that his friend didn't seem averse to talking about all manner of topics with the young women, and neither did they, if the furtive, smiling glances they gave each other were any indication. Inexplicably, Jack's thoughts drifted to Whisper. 

That had been several hours ago, and the women had drifted off, leaving Duran to his river watching and depriving Jack of this people watching, save for the bored off duty crew playing cards in a shady corner of the main deck.

It was evening before anything of further note happened. The lead barge had slowed slightly, drawing closer to the middle barge that Jack and Duran resided on, and a heavy rope was thrown across the gap and fastened. A man jumped from the lead barge to the rope and began to shimmy along it until he reached its end, where he clambered over the rail and onto the deck. A quick discussion with a crew member led to him looking down the barge and up to the luggage area, meeting Jack's gaze. He gave the young Hero a nod and began to make his way toward him, ambling past the crew as they went about their duties. 

Jack leapt lightly from his perch, landing easily and giving a short looping whistle that Duran would recognise from their Apprentice days to gain his attention. Aware of Jack's call and sighting the object of his attention, Duran pushed off the railing to meet him and the newcomer in the middle of the deck. 

“Heroes,” the newcomer greeted amicably. “It's good to have you on board. Call me Birch,” the man introduced himself. He had a wiry build, Jack noted, and his hands sported thick callouses. He was deeply tanned, likely earned from a life on the river; his eyes were framed by crinkled laugh lines. A thin white scar ran from his right cheekbone to the corner of his mouth, pulling slightly every time he spoke. 

Jack and Duran introduced themselves in turn; Birch appeared pleased as he heard their names. 

“It's always good to work with younger or lesser known Heroes,” he said by way of explanation. “Too often the more famous ones get too big for their britches and refuse to listen to good advice.”

The two Heroes shrugged, well aware of the diverse opinions the people of Albion held of members of the Heroes Guild. 

“I'm the leader of the men Mistress Ivory hired,” Birch continued. “We're spread out between the first and last barges. Figured you two will be enough protection here if any bandits are silly enough to stick their heads up.”

“Where have the attacks occurred on past trips?” Duran questioned, trying to get a feel for the Quest. 

“Whenever the bastards have felt like dragging themselves from their beds,” Birch told them, grimacing. “They had a go at us within sight of the mines once.”

“No one has tried to find the bandit camp?” Jack asked, swatting a mayfly away from his face. 

“There was a Quest card put up at the Guild, but it wasn't taken,” Birch told them. “The fellow who owns the mine paid for a few guards to take some men out to have a look, but it didn't end well.”

“What happened?” Duran asked.

“Only a few made it back-part of my band, actually,” Birch revealed. “It was the skill they showed that got us this operation. They've duties to attend to tonight, but if the two of you want to ask them a few questions we've got a bit of a card game planned for next evening,” the rusher offered. 

The two Heroes exchanged a glance, silently conferring. 

“There's to be wenches,” Birch added, sweetening the deal.

“Sounds good,” Duran agreed almost immediately, prompting an eyeroll from Jack. At least his friend was becoming predictable. 

X

The first night on the river was uneventful, the three river barges putting down anchor at a broad bend in the river. An empty meadow lined the closest bank, providing no cover for any group of bandits that might think the convoy a juicy target, while an incumbent full moon illuminated the glassy river surface. 

The second day passed much as the first had, Jack spending hours attacking Maze's journal with a quill while Duran did his best impression of a statue, scarcely moving from his spot leaning against the barge railing. 

Thankfully, the second day seemed to pass faster than the first, the pace having grown on the younger of the two Heroes. In what seemed like not time at all, the torches that lit up the barge were being lit while Jack and Duran found themselves waiting for a rope to be thrown across from the lead barge for them to climb across. 

Dusk had well and truly set in when the rope was finally hurled across, Duran catching the heavy coil easily, knotting it around the small post that stood nearby for such a purpose. 

“Torches are bright tonight,” Jack remarked offhand as Duran hoisted himself up onto the rope bridge. 

The big man paused, squinting past the nearest torch, out across the waters they had put down anchor in for the night. “My night vision has gone to shit,” he said by way of agreement, still hanging in place. 

Jack gave their mooring a more thorough examination, having given it little thought when they had first pulled up. It was not quite as secure as the previous night's berth, being in a much narrower stretch of river bordered by trees, but still serviceable enough. Take away the sentries' night vision, however, and more than a few potential approaches opened up. 

“Keep an eye out tonight then?” Jack suggested, hoisting himself up onto the rope as Duran pulled himself along. The mountain man made a noise of agreement, and they completed the rest of their crossing in silence. 

Birch was waiting for them on the other side. “Glad you came,” he greeted them, smiling. “Cards are set up below. Come on!”

The Heroes followed the rusher as he led them towards the staircase that twisted down to the lower deck. The occupants of this barge were an altogether different sort than those on their previous. Made up mostly of new workers for the mine, there were also a number of less affluent Traders headed upstream to ply their wares. Dotted around the deck was also a small number of young—and not so young—women wearing low cut dresses. 

The atmosphere became darker and smokier as they left the main deck behind, descending below. The only light sources came from several oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. Low support beams forced Duran to stoop down to pass as Birch led them further in, , past rows of hammocks and over to a corner that was shielded from view by a set of heavy curtains. 

“Boys!” Birch hollered over the confined noise as he drew the curtains back. “I brought the Heroes!”

A chorus of 'Eyyy!'s' greeted them as they were ushered through the area the rushers had set aside for themselves. The rushers were a rough and tumble sort, but respectable enough. 

“Boys, these are the Heroes. Heroes, this is the boys. Take a seat,” Birch rattled off the introductions as he directed Jack and Duran to open places in the card circle the rushers had set up around a low table. “Jack, you sit there. Duran, you'll want to be over next to that empty spot; Rosie sits there. You'll like Rosie.”

Jack and Duran found themselves on opposite sides of the circle, a mug of ale pressed into their hands. From the good cheer of the game, it seemed that they'd been playing and drinking for some time without any great losses on anyone's part. 

Taking a small sip from his mug, Jack managed to avoid pulling a face at the bitter taste. He made a decision to stick to mead in the future, even as he pretended to take another swig of ale to be polite. Duran drained half of his own mug in one swill, having been stealing ale from the Guild kitchens for the last year of his Apprenticeship, before sitting back to nurse it. 

'Deal em in!' came the cry, and a fresh deck of cards was doled out for a new game. It was one Jack was familiar with, and he was able to keep most of the small copper coins he had brought with him in his own pile. The next game was new to him, leading the young Hero to beg off. The game was a fast paced on; each player concentrating intently on an array of cards set up in the middle of the table. Jack was left to watch the players as they slapped cards down on the pile with ever increasing speed. The rushers, Duran as well, all wore their excitement clear on their faces, all except Birch; his face was a mask of concentration. The game came to a climax in some sort of duel between Duran and Birch, each taking and adding cards to the pile on the table in a frenzy. Finally, Duran gave a great shout, arms raised in triumph, while Birch sagged back in defeat. 

“Can't win em all, I suppose,” Birch told them, gracious in defeat. “Just most of them,” he winked. 

Laughter abounded; a fresh round of cards and ale were handed out. Jack accepted his without comment, most of his previous mug having made its way unobtrusively to the floor.

“Birch,” Jack called, drawing the man's attention away from the fresh round of cards he was dealing. You said some of your men had fought the bandits raiding the barges?”

“Ah, yeah,” Birch nodded, gesturing around the room. “These boys here. They were the only ones who managed to escape the ambush alive,” he said, almost proudly. 

“Describe the ambush?” Jack asked. 

“How many people did you lose?” Duran added, giving Jack a short glance. 

Rather than answer himself, Birch gestured to another of his men; a wiry muscled man who wore his hair shaved short. 

“Came outta nowhere,” the rusher shook his head. “We were followin' a game trail when it happened. Didn't hear a sound before the bastards were on us.”

“Like they dropped from the trees,” another, larger rusher piped up. “Whoever planned the ambush had to have known the woods like the back of their hands,” he finished soberly, taking another drink of his ale. 

“The strange thing is how close we were to the Heroes Guild,” the first man picked up again. “You wouldn't think bandits would wanna lair themselves anywhere near there.”

Jack remembered the group of bandits killed by himself and Whisper within the Guild Woods only two days ago and held his tongue. He deliberately avoided thinking of the assault on the Guild that ended with Heroes dead within its walls, even if their revival had been possible. 

“Two Blue guards and a mob of the miners were with us,” the larger rusher said in answer to Duran's question. “Few of them got out with us, but injured. Most didn't make it back to the mines. Only fella who did died in the night.”

“And that got you this job?” Duran prodded. 

“Foreman at the mines was impressed, hired us almost on the spot,” the shorter rusher shrugged.

“Seems unusual,” the mountain man observed. 

“I've worked with the man before,” Birch spoke up. “He knew my men would be good for it. Now, ready for another round?”

The rushers agreed enthusiastically, seemingly eager to leave the topic of the ambush behind. Looking over to Duran, Jack shrugged. They could always question them more tomorrow. The game picked up once more, and the Heroes settled back in to enjoy themselves. 

Several games later, Jack was watching a game he had been eliminated from early, taking the chance to work the kinks from his back and examine his fellow players some more. It was as he looked around the room that he saw the curtain walls shift, revealing the latest arrival to the game. A woman, crimson haired; all sensuous curves with dark, wicked eyes full of promise. Her clothing was less revealing than that of some of the women on the top deck, yet it stirred the blood all the more for it as it clung and shifted about her form as she moved. By chance, the woman was looking directly at Jack as she entered and she froze, like a doe caught before a hunter's bow. She recovered quickly, however, and before long a naughty smile was in place and she winked at the equally startled young hero, earning a light blush for her efforts. 

The rest of the men had noticed the entrance of the woman who could only be Rosie, and were watching enraptured as she swayed her way around the table, moving away from the only open seat, and rewarding her admirers with light touches here and there. As she passed Jack, he felt sinking disappointment when there was no brush against his back. That disappointment was stamped out when he felt a delicate touch on each shoulder and soft breath on his neck. Rosie leaned in and traced the edge of his ear with the tip of her tongue, before nibbling gently on his earlobe. Jack slumped bonelessly into his chair as she moved on, and he could feel her smirk burning into his back. Unbidden, the thought came to him that had he lived a normal life, he might have made a great fool of himself chasing a girl very much like Rosie back in Oakvale. 

Rosie continued on, only stopping briefly to whisper something to Birch, who frowned slightly, before shrugging and replying with a smile. Moving on to the seat conveniently left free next to Duran, Rosie perched herself archly on its edge, leaning forward with one hand resting on Duran's thigh. Judging by the attention the big man was giving the redhead, he didn't mind her presumption one bit. 

It was a few minutes into the next game that Rosie spoke up.

“So, Heroes,” the redhead began with a lilting smile. “What is it like?”

Jack blinked, broken from his contemplation of his less than stellar cards, while Duran, already folded, lowered his mug to ask, “how do you mean?”

“The adventure of being a Hero,” Rosie expanded with a grand gesture, as the game continued without them. “Travelling to far away places, meeting exotic people, slaying great beasts.”

Jack frowned at the romanticised notion of a Hero's life that Rosie seemed to hold. 

“Well, the exotic people are just grand,” Duran told the redhead flirtatiously, receiving a playful smack on his arm in return. “And we're on our way to the Northern Pyrepeaks now. My clan lives there, and I have not seen them for many years,” he said somewhat wistfully, before perking up. “But having a Hero in the clan is a good thing, so it will be worth it in the end.”

Rosie laid a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment, before turning to Jack. “And you, Jack? “ she asked with a smile. “What made you want to be a Hero?”

“Seemed like the thing to do at the time,” Jack answered with a careless shrug. His closest friends knew why he had become a Hero and what his ultimate goal was, but that was it, and Avo be damned if he was going to open up to a room of strangers about it. 

“How old are you, anyway?” Rosie questioned, seemingly off on another tangent. “About sixteen years?”

“Last Avossuns Day,” Jack acknowledged with a nod. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Rosie answered. “You must be quite skilful to be a Hero so young.”

Jack shrugged again, uncomfortable with the attention. Rosie seemed to be curiously happy, but thankfully her attention returned to Duran, who seemed to enjoy it more. The question about his age struck him as odd, however—she couldn't be that much older than him, if she was at all. 

The games continued for several hours, some the Heroes knew and some they didn't. Jack was on a streak of luck, his pile of copper coins several times larger than what he had started with. Rosie, meanwhile, had migrated to Duran's lap, and was whispering advice in his ear, while Birch watched all before him with a measured eye. The ale flowed freely, and Jack had almost taken enough small sips to convince himself that maybe it wasn't as bad as he had first assumed. 

It was during one of the games that Jack was sitting out that he heard what could have been a faint, piping scream. He sat up straight, shaking off the dullness that had come over his senses. 

“Did you hear that?” Jack questioned the rusher next to him, gaining the attention of several others around the table as well. The rusher in question shook his head blankly, but then Birch spoke up. 

“I think I did,” the heavily tanned man opined. “Some lout will have had a few too many and fallen overboard.”

There was another shout, clearer this time without the ruckus of the game. 

“And that will be his mate diving after him,” Birch chuckled, shuffling the cards he held. “Come on now. Let's finish this round and have a few more drinks.”

Birch's suggestion was met with enthusiasm from his rushers and indifference from Duran, who had his lap full of a wriggling Rosie, but Jack was suddenly struck by the notion that their Quest was to protect the barges, not play cards. 

“I'm going to have a quick look above,” Jack decided, rising to his feet. 

“Ahh, do you have to?” Birch bargained. “Wait one more round.”

Shrugging in response, Jack stepped away from the table and attempted to squeeze past the other rushers. 

“If that's the way it has to be,” Birch said, sounding resigned. “Boys!”

Jack froze in place as he felt a pair of blades pressed into his sides. Duran made a strangled sort of half yelp and jack looked over to see Rosie holding a pair of thin blades, one at the big man's throat and another at his balls. 

“Easy there, Heroes,” Birch warned, his tone no longer jovial. “There are some of us who don't want this to end in blood,” his gaze drifted to Rosie for a brief moment. 

“You're working this from the inside,” Jack realised as he was forced back into his seat. 

“Right in one,” Birch agreed, spinning a strange edged weapon around one finger. It had a circular grip in the middle and two blades of differing length extended from each side. 

“You might have gotten the drop on us, but you can't expect to take on two Heroes with the men you've got,” Duran pointed out almost arrogantly, although Jack, knowing his friend well, could see his uncertainty. 

“An experienced pair of Heroes, perhaps,” Birch grinned. “But you are not experienced. In fact, I'd wager this could be your first Quest. In any case, it doesn't matter,” he finished dismissively. “We've been lacing your drinks all night.”

“Try and throw a punch,” one of the rushers grinned. “I want to laugh when you fall on yer arse.”

Jack almost smirked after the rusher spoke. 

“What?” Birch demanded sharply as he caught the subtle change in Jack's demanour. 

“You might have taken our strength,” Jack began, meeting Duran's gaze. “But you haven't taken our Will.”

A savage grin came over the mountain man's face, and the Heroes acted. Duran's torso swelled and bulged, his muscles thickening as he nearly doubled in size. With both hands, he grabbed the arm holding the knife that threatened his manhood, ignoring the small blade that dug impotently into his thickly muscled neck. Rising to his feet, he disarmed Rosie and grasped her by the neck, hurling her across the table and into a small cluster of rushers. 

As Duran had acted, so had Jack. His form turning insubstantial, the blades at his back found only air as their owners attempted to run him through. He swept through the table and reformed, grabbing the rusher at Duran's side by the arm. A single bolt of electricity coursed through him, sending the bald man into convulsions on the floor. 

Their numbers reduced by half in the first exchange, the rushers seemed hesitant to continue until three of their number could extricate themselves from under Rosie. The short stand off was broken when Birch hurled a small object across the table at the two Heroes before diving under it himself. Not a second later, the object exploded in a cacophony of light and sound. The Heroes, familiar with such devices from their friendship with Whisper, had the fortune to close their eyes and cover their ears instinctively in the instant before the blast. The rushers, caught wholly unprepared, were not so fortunate. 

When the smoke cleared, Jack and Duran were left in a room of incapacitated rushers, while Birch and Rosie were nowhere to be seen. 

“The lockbox,” Duran said in realisation, his body returning to its natural size. “They'll be trying to beat us to it.” He made to lead the way from the room, only to stumble, the drugged ale taking its toll. He cursed. “I'll catch up. I'm not failing our first Quest!”

Taking the direction for what it was, Jack sprinted across he lower deck to the stairs, taking them three at a time. On the main deck, he found the crew and passengers clustered together at one side. Forcing his way through to the front, he came across the spectacle they were watching. 

The Trader Thornbull and his sister, Mistress Ivory were held hostage along with the three young girls that had approached Duran earlier in the trip, roughly a dozen bandits gathered about them. Their leader, a tall brute covered head to toe in tattoos was strutting back and forth, a wicked looking cutlass in one hand. Another five bandits stood next to each of the hostages, also bearing naked steel, save one who held a loaded crossbow. 

Jack's attention was drawn to the youngest hostage, a girl of no more than thirteen years. The bandit holding her was pressing himself against her body, leering at her frightened whimpers as she tried fruitlessly to escape. 

Flame flickered at the edge of his vision, and Jack was taken back to the attack on his home all those years ago. The degradations a small group of bandits had forced a ten year old girl through as he lay hidden and unable to do anything but watch forced themselves back to the forefront of his mind, and the world about him fell to silence as the memory of her screams burst back to the forefront of his mind. 

Tunnel vision set in, and he threw all he had learned of tactics and hostage retrieval at the Guild to the winds. His form blurred, and the distance between the two barges seemed to stretch into infinity. Then he was standing in front of the bandit he had targeted, wrath and death in his eyes. He gripped the bandit's wrist with one hand as the man tried to bring his weapon to bear, rage bubbling within his chest, even as he slammed his fist into his foe's face, again and again, the desire to cause the man pain dominating his actions. Jack brought his hand back to deliver another blow, only to open his fist and flex his fingers, a dancing blue flame dancing to life in his palm. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl, and then he grasped the face of his victim with his burning hand. 

The bandit's face molded around his fingers, eyeballs bursting messily under the heat. Screams of immeasurable pain burst forth, distorted and wet, as his foe flailed wildly in an attempt to escape his doom. Jack held on until he felt skin sloughing off under his grasp, and then he let the weakly moaning body fall to the deck. He turned to the remaining bandits, quenching the flame in his fist. Almost as one, they took a step back, before realising that they faced only one foe, a kid even if he was a Hero. 

Jack shook with anger as he watched his enemies. Without breaking his gaze, he leaned down to pick up the axe the dead bandit had been holding against his hostage. Raising the weapon high, he brought it down with a wet thud into the dying man's stomach, deliberately increasing the agony of his last moments. The girl he had saved flinched as blood splattered her dress, apparently equally terrified of the vicious bandits and the brutal Hero who had rescued her. With a messy wrench, Jack freed his new weapon from the guts of his victim and hefted it experimentally, feeling its weight. He smiled at his still surprised foes, like a shark questing after the scent of blood. 

Had they been smarter men, they would have heeded the fell chill that clawed up their spines in that moment and fled. But they were not, and so they charged the Hero to a man, intent on destroying what their subconscious minds recognised as a bigger predator. 

The young Hero rushed forward again, his blurred form almost glowing blue in the night. Ignoring the leading bandits entirely, Jack suddenly became solid in front of the last man, axe already mid swing. The steel head bit deeply into his neck, and Jack wrenched it free in a spray of blood, turning with its momentum to bury it in the back of the next bandit. The bandit collapsed, his scream of pain alerting his friends to the threat at their backs. A bolt of lightning erupted from Jack's free hand, lighting up the deck as it arced between two foes. The scent of cooked meat began to waft over the water as the bandits realised their number had been reduced by a third after a single exchange. 

Beginning to show signs of panic, the bandits looked around as if for their hostages, only to realise that Jack now stood between him and them, and that the girl he had liberated first had fled to the cabins, wisely locking herself in. The crossbow wielding bandit took aim and loosed, only for the bolt to pass through the Hero's ghostly form harmlessly. 

Returning to his solid state, Jack belatedly thought of the hostages behind him. He turned slightly to confirm their well being, relieved when he saw them crouching at the barge rail, the girls shielded protectively by Ivory and Thornbull. 

Small tremors ran down Jack's arms, the intense period of Will use taking its toll. He drew his anger and rage at the bandits back to the forefront of his mind, drawing strength from it. As he regathered himself, the bandits began to spread themselves out in an attempt to lessen the damage he could inflict with his Will, and Jack made to take advantage of the distance between them. He blurred towards an enemy on the edge of the group, axe raised for a killing blow. His target flinched violently, unable to react to his sudden appearance, and Jack took pleasure in the fear in his eyes. 

The swish of metal through air was his only warning, and he dropped instinctively, rolling to the side to avoid the blade that would have cleaved his arm from his body. The hulking bandit leader had leapt to the point he would arrive at the instant he had blurred into motion, somehow anticipating his Will expression. His original target, spared from death, brought his own blade back for a vicious blow, and Jack was forced to blur away again, putting distance between himself and his foes. He fought the urge to lower his axe and use it as a crutch. Keeping his focus, Jack drew on his anger once more, although even that source of strength was beginning to flag. 

Sensing weakness, the bandits began to advance. In retaliation, Jack electrocuted another of their number, leaving him twitching on the deck. The two sides regarded each other warily, neither able to advance without disadvantage. The remaining bandits were on edge against another bolt of lightning, and Jack finally began to come to his senses, assessing the situation as he had been taught.

There were seven bandits facing him, and four civilians at his back. His enemies were learning to predict where his rushes would take him, and his Will reserves were beginning to run low. His mind flashed back to the attack on the Guild, and the warning the Guildmaster had given him about the dangers of using his very lifeforce to power his spells. He hefted the axe he had liberated; it was a good weapon, and fairly light. He didn't have the time to kill all the bandits, more the pity, as there were two more foes possibly making off with the objective of the Quest as he wasted time. The situation needed to change. 

Duran chose that moment to make his entrance. Legs almost impossibly huge, he leapt the distance between the two barges in a single bound, crashing down on top of an unlucky bandit. As they stared in shock at the Hero with legs nearly twice as long as his body, Duran lashed out again, catching a foe square in the chest with his boot. The bandit was sent flying across the deck, before coming to a sudden stop against the railing with a nasty crack. He didn't get up. 

The mountain man hefted a heavy length of wood in his hands easily as his legs returned to their normal size. He eyed the remaining bandits, who were now clearly wishing they were somewhere else. 

“This all there was?” Duran asked, eager to do violence. 

Jack looked around, taking note of the spectators on both other barges. “Probably. There's still Birch and Rosie though. What about the rushers?”

“Sleeping soundly,” Duran chuckled somewhat nastily, hefting his makeshift weapon once more. 

A bandit, emboldened by their apparent lack of attention, made a run at Duran. He was clobbered across the jaw for his efforts, the bone breaking with an audible crack. His mates followed quickly, aiming to overwhelm the dreadlocked Hero. 

“I've got this lot,” Duran shouted over the melee as he came to blows with the bandit leader. “Get after the gold!”

Trusting Duran to be able to handle a few bandits, Jack turned and strode to the cowering civilians, crouching beside them and grasping the Trader Thornbull by the arm. “Where is the lockbox?” he demanded of the man. 

“Our cabin,” the terrified man replied, “where Olivia hid,” he stammered, referring to the young girl Jack had saved first. 

Jack rose to his feet and blurred across the entirety of the deck to the cabins, bypassing the fight completely. He leaned against a cabin door and sucked in a heavy breath, winded after his continued use of Will. Blocking out the shrieks coming from the bandit Duran was using as a club, he listened at the door, hearing only silence. Trying the handle, he found it locked. His boot had better luck, breaking the flimsy door wide open and leaving it hanging drunkenly from one hinge. 

The figures within froze at his entrance. Birch was halfway to the cabin window, lockbox in his arms, while Rosie had Olivia against the wall, finger held across her lips and knife at her throat. The redhead had ditched the dress she had worn previously and was now clad in breeches and shirt; perhaps she had been wearing the breeches underneath all along. Olivia made a frightened whimper at Jack's entrance and Rosie ave him a guilty look, reminiscent of a child caught with their hand in the jam. 

“Well,” Birch started slowly. “This is a dilemma. I didn't expect you to be able to shake off the ale so quickly.”

“I never drank it,” Jack told him, keeping an eye on all three of them. 

“So I see,” Birch replied, making no move to put down the lockbox. He glanced from Jack to Rosie. “However, we do appear to have the upper hand here, so I think we'll be leaving with our prize, if you don't mind.”

In response, Jack brought his hand up and let it fill with lightning, aiming at Birch. 

“Ah,” the tanned man said. “So we're at an impasse.”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “You've got about two minutes to leave before my friend finishes with those bandits and I don't have to let you escape.”

“I'm sorry,” Birch blinked. “Hostage?”

“Can't protect you when she's dead. Kill her and you're next,” Jack promised. 

“Ok, how about this then,” Birch began, his tone turning hard. “Rosie cuts the little miss just enough to make her bleed and we walk away with the gold while you choose between saving her life and giving chase. How do you like that on, Hero?”

Jack hesitated, hearing the promise in Birch's words. He glanced at Olivia; her eyes were wide and frightened as Rosie held her in place. She clearly believed he would leave her to die after what she had seen him do to the bandit holding her, and he felt a short flicker of guilt, before pushing it down ruthlessly. He stared hard at the redhead for a long moment as a suspicion formed in his gut. 

“Maybe you'd leave the poor girl to bleed out for money,” Jack acknowledged, flying by the seat of his pants, “but I'll bet you all the gold in that lockbox that Rosie wouldn't.”

There was a pregnant pause as Birch considered Jack's words. Rosie looked between the two men, her blade drifting away from the young girl very slightly and Jack felt a surge of triumph. 

Birch swore sulfurously, his hand dipping into his pocket and flashing up even as he dropped the lockbox. Jack jerked his arm up reflexively, catching a small dagger in his forearm. He lashed out blindly with a bolt of lightning from his uninjured arm, but succeeded only in scorching the bed. Yanking the blade form his arm, he looked up to see Birch already gone and a flash of red hair disappearing through the window. The dull thump of boots on wood drifted up through the window and Jack rushed over to it, halting himself instinctively in the instant before he would have stuck his head through it. Not a second later, another small dagger passed through the space his head would have occupied, sticking into the low ceiling where it quivered in place. 

Waiting for another long moment, Jack looked out through the window when no more daggers were forthcoming. The river surface outside was shrouded in darkness, moon hidden behind the clouds, and whatever small water craft the pair had dropped down into was nowhere to be seen. Briefly, Jack considered conjuring light, but then rethought the wisdom of pinpointing his location for another knife throw. 

Vaguely noting that he'd been stabbed through the arm, Jack pulled the blade from his flesh and went to Olivia helping the girl to her feet and checking she was uninjured. She gave a shaky nod, silently assuring him of her well being and he made his way over to the lockbox, securing it properly. He lifted it with his uninjured arm, surprised at its heaviness, and guided Olivia from the cabin, the sounds from Duran's fight having fallen silent. They emerged just in time to see that Duran had found time to retrieve the hammer he had been gifted by his sponsor as a graduation present, and was about to use it to execute the bandit leader. The hammer came down, and a wet squelch echoed across the deck. Jack noted that a number of the spectators on the other barges were looking rather nauseous, and that several other bandits appeared to have met a similar fate. For a brief moment, Jack could have sworn that the runic engravings on the hammer had glowed green, but then the moment passed and he was left unsure. 

“You've got the lockbox,” Duran said breathlessly, still exhilarated from the fight. “And the other two?”

“They got away,” Jack replied, “but they left gifts,” he finished sardonically, showing his friend the throwing knife he had plucked from his arm, still wet with his blood. 

“He got you then. Show me the wound,” Duran ordered, adrenaline high over and his usual calm attitude reasserting itself. 

Jack offered his wounded arm up for inspection, the pain starting to register in the wake of the fight, as well as the depleted state of his Will reserves. He watched as the crew and passengers of the other barges, spectators up until that point, began to attempt to cross over, trying not to pay attention as Duran poked and prodded at his arm. 

“You were lucky,” Duran spoke. “Blade went in right between your radius and ulna. An inch either way and we'd be dealing with a chipped bone.” A white light suffused his hands as he held the wound. “Still, all good now.”

Jack took in a deep breath, holding it for several counts before letting it out, seeking to calm himself after the night's excitement. “We did it,” he said with a bit of a grin. “We beat them.”

“We did indeed,” Duran said with a grin of his own. “Pity you didn't have another one of those thrown at you,” he said with a nod to the dagger. “We could've had matching trophies.”

“Check the ceiling in the cabin,” Jack suggested, turning to watch as the other barges were drawn closer, occupants eager to get close now that the danger had passed.

“Ha!” Duran slapped him on the back, enormously pleased. He looked over the growing group of people beginning to mill around them, looking as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it.

“Here come the admirers,” Jack observed with decidedly mixed feelings. The accolades of people he had helped in his Quests had always featured prominently in his day dreams, but that the moment was here, he almost wished he was somewhere else. 

“Trophy up,” Duran said, bumping him with his shoulder. “Let's give them a good show.”

Taking his friend's advice, Jack lifted the bloody blade high into the air, a cheer from those they had protected rising with it. As the hostages they had rescued stepped over the bandit corpses to be the first to thank them, Jack felt a smile tug at his lips. Perhaps he could get used to it. 

X x X

The Guildmaster regarded the mangled hunk of flesh before him on the table. Bereft of its limbs, only blackened stumps remained. Squares of flesh had been flayed from its chest, and one ear had been cut from its head. The sole surviving raider who had dared to assault the Guild of Heroes was a pitiful remnant of the warrior he had been, but still he remained defiant—or so the man thought. 

With exacting precision, Weaver reached out and plucked a blue orb from the raider's head, leaving a partially healed socket. With a flex of his fingers, the orb shattered into uncountable pieces. 

“Liars and thieves, you know not what is in store,” the mostly dead raider ranted, his remaining brown eye teetering on the brink of madness. 

“Your language is a surprisingly lyrical one,” Weaver remarked, watching his subject over steepled fingers. The raider froze as his native tongue rolled across his torturer's lips. 

“How?” the raider demanded, struggling feebly against his binding even with his injuries. 

“Die unknowing,” the Guildmaster condemned, slicing his subject's throat neatly. 

The man gurgled once, before finally succumbing to his wounds. Weaver immolated the corpse with a brief flicker of Will, a frown marring his usually serene visage. The knowledge he had dredged from the raider's mind was troubling, and could lead to dark times for all of Albion. If they—the Wickermen, as he now knew they called themselves-- had stumbled upon Albion's shores by chance, then their disappearance would be written off as the result of a foolish endeavour by their countrymen. 

But if they had voyaged through the wintry seas of the far north west purposefully seeking them...well. The possibility, added to the great sense of wrath and betrayal he had gleaned from the Wickerman's mind was enough to make the powerful Guildmaster err on the side of caution. 

It would serve no purpose to start a panic, but a few strings here, a whisper there, a word of advice to certain promising young Heroes...he was not called Weaver by passing fancy. 

The Guildmaster strode from the Guild dungeons, purpose in his step and war on his mind.


	3. Brand

Jack let out the breath he had been holding as they finally reached the docks at the mountain mines, the height of the Pyrepeak Mountains looming over them imposingly. Not one hundred metres upstream, the somewhat calm river they had followed to the mountain turned into a seething mass of impassable rapids as it disappeared up into the mountains proper. 

Four days had passed after the start of his first Quest and it was nearly complete. After the bandit attack on the second night, emotions had been high on the three barges. Some had become more carefree, believing the strife to be done with, while others had begun to expect another attack, certain that the gold in the strongbox would prove too great a lure. Thankfully, the attempt led by Birch and Rosie had proved to be the only one. 

“We should get the money off before all else,” Trader Thornbull said anxiously at Jack's side. Ever since the attack and the Heroes' rescue of his family, he had lost all pretence of snobbish superiority, instead driven by an intense state of (justifiable) paranoia. 

Jack agreed silently, looking over to where Duran stood next to Mistress Ivory, hammer slung across his back. It hadn't left his side since the attack. Catching his friend's eye, Jack raised his hand and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together; it was the universal sign for money. The big man nodded and tapped Ivory on the shoulder, explaining the situation. She reached up into her sleeve and produced the key to her cabin, handing it to Duran before returning her attention to the organised chaos around her. 

As he waited for his friend, Jack adjusted the iron bracers he had bought in Bowerstone. The knife he had taken through the arm had taught him a valuable lesson about the difference between merely owning armour and wearing it. At his hip was the iron blade he had worn at the beginning of the Quest, deciding to continue with it rather than take up the better quality axe he had liberated from a bandit corpse. 

Duran approached, bearing the strongbox they were tasked to protect, heavy with gold. He handed it to Thornbull and a gangplank was laid out, the Trader leading the way towards the mining operation. 

The mine owners were not lacking in means. Visible at the end of the road leading away from the docks, a well built wooden palisade wall surrounded the entrance to the mine. The road itself was well maintained, the trees on either side of it having been cleared for several wagon lengths in each direction. As they passed through the defensive wall, the entirety of the compound was revealed to the two Heroes. Several large loghouses were arranged orderly around what must be the entrance to the mine itself, a gaping hole set into the side of the lowest reaches of the mountains.

The traffic coming in and out of the mine entrance suggested further development beyond the usual mining operations underground, but Thornbull led the Heroes discreetly towards the largest of the loghouses. 

The haphazard bustle of the mining operation fell into quiet organisation as they entered the loghouse. A dozen odd people sat at rows of neatly arranged desks, each focused on some task or another. Some pored over page after page of tiny writing, others tallied up figures and sums on large abacus', while others still exhaustively examined small samples of various ores. 

At the head of the room, overseeing it all was a slim man dressed well in finely made clothes. He seemed uncaring of the ink splattering his sleeves as he worked, focused intently as he was. The three newcomers approached him, ignored by the room at large as they worked. 

“Trevor,” the slim man greeted Thornbull as they reached him, not looking up from his work. “Good to see you made it here in one piece.”

“Thanks to the Heroes,” Trader Trevor Thornbull replied, setting the strongbox down on the large desk before him. 

“Yes, I read your missive,” the slim man gestured to a hastily written report, borne upstream on a messenger pigeon the morning after the attack. “It would see I owe you great thanks for protecting my family.”

Duran nodded acceptance while Jack shrugged, both remaining silent. 

Thornbull spoke up to break the silence. “Jack, Duran, this is my brother-in-law, Ian Ducal.”

“No titles?” Ian, the man who could only be the owner of the mines asked with faint surprise.

“Not yet,” Jack told him evenly. 

“I see,” Ian said easily in return. “Trevor, I'll leave the men's pay with you. Heroes, see my wife for your rewards,” he directed, already returning to his work. He paused after a moment to look back up at Jack. “I read of how you saved my youngest, Olivia. I won't forget it,” he said sincerely. 

X x X

The Heroes sat in a plain office and watched as Mistress Ivory counted out two pouches of gold, placing the heavy brown pouches onto a set of scales to show their balance. She then passed them over the money counting table she sat at, watching their reactions. Sun shone in through a high window.

Jack hefted his pouch, appreciating its weight. “The Quest Card said the reward was only ten gold pieces between us,” he observed. 

Ivory nodded. “My husband and I wish to show our gratitude,” she answered. “Fifty gold coins apiece is a pittance compared to the lives of our daughters. 

“It is rather more than a pittance to us,” Duran admitted, tucking his pouch into his leather jerkin. 

Ivory gave a pleased smile before asking, “this is your first Quest, yes? I was under the impression that the next class of Heroes would not finish for another month?”

“We were promoted early,” Jack said with a touch of pride. 

Ivory processed the information. “I must admit, your ages made me dubious when we first met, but I am glad it was you who took our Quest Card,” she told them. “I shall be sure to tell of your skills the next time a Bard visits us.”

Jack grinned at the news, Duran answering with a a light smile of his own. Bards were the story tellers and saga spinners that helped a Hero's renown grow. They were wanders, mostly, travelling in search of a tale that would earn them a bed and a meal at whatever inn or tavern they chose to ply their trade. It was every Bards' dream to discover a legendary Hero in the making and follow them to fame and fortune, just as it was many young Hero's desire to gain the attention of a skilled Bard who would help them get there. 

Bards were of particular interest to new Heroes—it was they who were responsible for giving them their Names. A Name could change throughout a Hero's career, but not easily, and it was always an evolution of their first, growing as they grew. 

“We'd appreciate that,” Duran told Ivory.

The mine owner's wife inclined her head. “Where do you intend to journey now? Have you another Quest waiting?” she inquired politely. 

“We travel north,” Duran said, “to meet with my clan.”

Ivory frowned slightly. “Which clan might that be?”

“Badger,” Duran answered after a moment. 

“Ah,” Ivory replied, relaxing. “I ask only because there were several misunderstandings between ourselves and the Otter clan when my husband first opened the mine.”

Watching his friend from the corner of his eye, Jack could see no change in his pleasant expression, despite the tension that was suddenly present in his frame. Ivory, never trained to read people beyond watching their expressions, was oblivious. 

“I am sure we can provide copies of the few maps we have of the mountain trails to help you on your way,” Ivory continued on. 

“Thank you,” Jack said. “We mean to leave as soon as we can, if possible.” He smiled. “We wouldn't want to waste a day of travel.”

“Or presume upon your hospitality,” Duran added, rising to his feet. 

“Not at all,” Ivory demurred, also rising out of her chair. “I shall have a man gather the maps; he will meet you at the compound gates. Heroes,” she said by way of farewell with a curtsy and an incline of her head, before departing. 

X x X

The mountain trail was a rough one, but far from the worst the Heroes had even been subjected to. Weaving through the roots of the Pyrepeaks, it would lead them north until they reached the area Duran identified as belonging to the Badger clan.

Jack scowled at the dark clouds gathering overhead. Already the temperature was dropping and the threat of rain looming larger. He rubbed his arms in an attempt to regain some warmth; the simple white shirt and brown trousers he wore provided little protection from the elements. 

He glanced over to Duran at his side. The big man seemed unbothered by the cooler mountain air as they trudged along the rocky path. A particularly cold gust of wind soared along the trail they followed, sending a ripple of gooseflesh along his arms. When the first few droplets of rain fell on him seconds later, he was decided. He held his hand out palm up before himself, and concentrated. 

It was just a brief flicker of light at first, barely there. Jack fed it more of his Will, coaxing the spell with the gentleness one might use with a newborn foal. The strand of light grew into a tongue of flame, before bursting into into a tall blaze, shooting several feet into the air. The sudden conflagration startled Jack and Duran both, the Will user nearly allowing the spell to flare from existence. Closing his eyes, Jack focused on the feel of the spell in his palm, taming it, bending it to his Will. Moments later, he opened his eyes to see the thin streamer of fire circling harmlessly around his hand. 

Duran shook his head ruefully, saying nothing—at least verbally. 

“What?” Jack defended weakly. “I was cold.”

Duran rolled his eyes. “Haven't seen that expression of Will before,” he observed. “Maze's book?”

Jack raised his free hand, palm down, and tilted it side to side. “To a point. The expression the book described was a fireball that could be thrown, but it was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Duran asked, amusedly. “Showing Maze up already, are we?”

Jack muttered an uncharacteristically unfavourable comment about Maze under his breath. “Not hardly. The book the old bastard gave me is deliberately wrong. I have to find all the errors in it and work it out for myself.”

“So...this is the fire spell done right?” Duran asked curiously. He might have held a greater interest into the physical aspects of their Hero training, but he could still appreciate purely Will based exercises. 

“Kind of. The book did detail a viable expression, only it tried to trick you into blowing yourself up—it skipped a step in the moulding and looped back around on itself. This is the expression streamlined, I guess,” Jack explained. “It doesn't have the same explosive potential, but if I was struck by the fancy to cut a bandit's head off...”

Duran attempted to follow his friend's simplified line of through and succeeded, for the most part. All through their Apprenticeships, Jack had had an uncanny ability to see and comprehend Will expressions on a level that his friends could only reach for, and now here he was playing with an improved version of an expression that he had first glimpsed less than a week before. It was times like these that Duran found it easy to forget that Jack was two years his junior, before inevitably remembering and contemplating how he would have managed with a similar Will exercise when he was two years younger. It was a reminder that his friend well deserved the shared distinction of youngest Hero in recent memory. 

The Heroes paused on the trail, Duran watching as Jack focused on a small sapling protruding from a crag of rocks only a few metres away. The streamer of fire that twisted around his hand broke into a single length of fire, twisting loosely in his grip. It sputtered, thickening at one end while nearly fading out at the other, and Jack was forced to spend several long moments bringing it back under control. At length, he had a long, thin strand of flame held by one end in his palm, the heat it gave off apparently having no affect on him. 

In a slow, careful motion, Jack brought his arm back, and then whipped if forward in a slashing motion. The rope of fire cracked through the air, trails of sparks in its wake, to slice through the sapling with ease; it was akin to iron cutting through water. The upper half of the sapling fell to the ground, revealing blackened wood where the fire whip had passed through. 

Jack flexed his hand, the flame having burnt out after destroying the sapling. “I think it has potential, yeah?” he asked with a grin. 

“I think you have too much fun burning things,” Duran replied, setting off again. “Come on. If we stop to kill every killer tree on the trail, we'll never reach clan grounds.”

“Mage's favourite indeed,” Jack said to himself as he followed after his friend. He was already eager to show Maze. 

“Pity you can't just Will away these storm clouds,” Duran remarked.

Jack eyed the dark sky speculatively for a moment before shaking his head. “I'm nowhere near that level yet, and if you want to stop a storm you really need to catch if before it starts. Then there's the consequences elsewhere from altering the weather here...”

“You're serious,” Duran said, startled. “I thought those spells were only stories.”

“Maze can do it,” Jack revealed. “I found a Guild record of a Quest he took to end a drought in the North. I don't know of anyone else who can though.”

Duran was silent as they continued on, pondering the thought of manipulating the weather.

“Hey, Duran,” Jack spoke up suddenly, “what was that business with the Otter clan back at the mines?”

Duran frowned, but was unsurprised that his friend had picked up on his tension when Ivory had brought up their dealings with the Otter. “The mine is in what used to be Otter clan territory,” he explained. “Otter didn't want the mine to happen, but there was too much money to be made.”

“So the mine owner's just forced the clan out?” Jack asked, looking back on his interactions with Ivory and Ian Ducal in a new light.

“It wasn't quite that simple, but yes,” Duran answered grimly. “Badger sent warriors to help Otter take back their land, but the mine was too rich. My uncle was killed by a a mercenary band they hired. If I'd known that that was the mine involved, I never would have touched that Quest.”

“We could always go back and kill them all,” Jack offered lightly. 

Duran smiled and shook his head, well aware that Jack was only mostly joking. “The clans won't forget what happened,” he said. “No call for a killing spree just yet.”

Above them, the heavens flashed and roared, and rain began to come down in sheets. The Heroes broke out into a run, heading for the shelter offered by a crag of rocks jutting out from a nearby cliff face. They brushed what water they could off themselves and set about making their sleeping arrangements as comfortable as they could. With no fire wood to be had, they had an early dinner of cold meat and cheese before setting out their bedrolls and doing what they could to ignore the storm raging about them, seeking sleep. 

X x X

Jack woke abruptly some hours later, blinking sleep from his eyes. The sky was still dark, but not from clouds—the storm had moved on to reveal a starless sky. He blinked again, trying to divine the cause of his waking. Then the sky blinked back and a full litre of adrenaline flooded his system. 

“Duran!” Jack bellowed, leaping to his feet. “Rock troll!”

The crag of rocks they had made their camp under loomed high above them as the rock behemoth drew back an enormous fist, intending to smash the puny creatures beneath it. 

Jack let loose a bolt of lightning born of panic and fear, striking the troll in its right eye. There was the sound of shattering glass, quickly drowned out by an enraged roar as the troll reared back in pain. Shards of something pelted Jack's face, leaving hundreds of tiny angry red scratches in their wake. 

Duran was on his feet now, hammer clasped in his hands and clad in only his smallclothes. He delivered a mighty blow to the rock troll's knee as it recovered from jack's attack. The blow was shrugged off by the huge creature, and it fixed its remaining eye on the two Heroes with a wrathful stare. 

A thick spire of rock burst from the ground before Jack, catching him squarely in the gut. The breath driven from him, Jack's vision began to grey as he was launched through the air to land heavily on the ground some distance away. He tried to suck in a gasp of air, only to nearly lose consciousness entirely as a number of broken ribs painfully made themselves known. 

At the rock troll's feet, Duran was doing his best to avoid being squashed like a bug. Repeated hammer blows to the creature's knees seemed to have little effect beyond aggravating it further. The troll roared its fury at the irritance dancing around its feet; just too swift to crush. With a roar of his own, Duran suddenly swelled in size, his arms and torso bulging with muscle. His hammer drawn back with both hands, Duran delivered a mighty blow to the creature's left knee. A great crack resounded through the nigh and the troll bellowed in pain, dropping down to one knee. 

The mountain man smashed another heavy blow into the damaged joint, again and again. The knee was in danger of shattering entirely, and Jack, hand suffused by white light as he clasped it to his damaged ribs, thought his friend capable of finishing the ferocious creature all on his own. Then the rock troll lashing out with startling suddenness, a closed fist catching Duran square in the shoulder. His increase in size was lost immediately as he was hurled across the rocky landscape like a rag doll. 

The troll turned on Jack next, still in arms reach, its remaining red eye glowing malevolently. It reached for him, and the young Hero snarled, the white light around his hand turning to flame. The concentrated Will was released, flying out to strike the rocky limb. It exploded with a dull thump and the troll drew back, cradling its now cracked and blackened hand against itself. Jack drew in his Will once more, crafting another explosive fireball, pouring in his rage at the troll, fear for his friend and bitterness that he now might never catch up with the ones to destroy his childhood. 

The beast reached for him once more, determined to squash the fleshy irritant that had caused it such pain, and Jack unleashed his Will. The dense ball of red tinted fire, emotions and will rocketed out faster than the eye could follow, slamming into the rock troll's body with a monstrous explosion. The creature reared back, wreathed in flame and smoke. It screeched in agony, forcing Jack to clasp his hands over his ears at the unnatural sound. Attempting to regain his feet despite his injuries, the young Hero staggered and fell, the world tilting sideways and his vision going grey once more as he found himself unable to move.

From his perspective, Jack watched at the corner of his eye as the troll flailed and beat at the flames licking at its body, ignoring all previous injuries as it attempted to smother the flame that refused to go out, feeding on the rock flesh of its victim. 

Jack struggled to stay conscious as all sound deserted him, leaving the world hanging in an eerie silence. He fought the grasp of darkness as long as he could, the struggle of seconds seeming to take hours. Finally, the beast lifted its head to the heavens and appeared to give a great roar, before freezing in place and crumbling swiftly into dust and gravel. The strange flames winked out immediately after, and Jack found himself with no more fight to give. His pain mercifully faded away and there was a roaring in his ears...

X x X

As the world slowly began to return to him, Jack was aware of a cool cloth gently wiping across his cheek. He focused on the sensation as he attempted to gauge his surroundings. He lay on a thick rug and was covered from the waist down by what felt like a heavy blanket, his torso a mass of stiffness. The damp cloth was wiped across his cheek once more, leaving a path of stinging skin in its wake. Jack winced and tried to force his eyes open, feeling as though he'd been asleep for days. 

Through blurry eyes he could make out a pale face and a short mass of dark hair. He blinked rapidly and his vision cleared. His carer was clearly a young woman, the wolf skin cloak she wore doing little to obscure her figure, tied loosely across her chest as it was and she wore a long animal hide skirt past her knees. Her dark hair was a tangled mass cut haphazardly; likely by a knife. The paleness of her face stood in contrast to dark red lips, the bottom of which was marred by a thin white scar. 

The woman frowned as she set aside the wet cloth, eyes fixed on his face. She caressed his cheek gently—then she pulled at something quickly and viciously. There was a lance of pain and jack did his best to grimace, noting absently that his face was feeling almost numb. The woman returned the cloth to his face and the stinging pain faded away. 

“What?” Jack croaked out, forcing his voice to work. 

“You have shards of troll eye in your face,” the woman told him, smirking, and Jack got the feeling she found this to be amusing. “Keep still so I can finish pulling them out. Shiny rubies are still valuable even if they're only shards.”

Jack ceased his attempts to move as he processed the woman's words. There were shards of troll eye in his face. The lightning he had conjured must have hit the troll directly in the eye and shattered it, he realised. He tried to recall the fight, only to find it a frenzied blur in his mind. 

“Troll eyes are formed by precious gems. Troll hunting was once considered profitable for this reason,” Jack found himself reciting thickly. He blinked, puzzled. He knew that exact passage from somewhere. 

“Silly lowlanders thought it was easier to take shinies from trolls than pull them from the ground,” the woman said scornfully. “Pity they learned their lesson.”

“This belief was brought to an end when a swarm of trolls followed a fleeing hunting party all the way back to Bowerstone,” Jack continued almost unwillingly. “A number of Heroes working with the local Guard were able to drive the swarm away with some loss of life.”

The Hero's dark haired carer flicked him on the nose. “Don't worry about the chattering,” she told him. “The balm I'm using for the pain has a habit of loosening tongues.” 

Jack followed the cloth in her hand as she dipped it in a wooden bowl next to the rug he lay on. She squeezed the cloth out before returning it to his face, and he could feel the stinging pain fading away even further. 

“At least you had something interesting to say,” she continued. “Duran could only ramble on about owing someone a sword.”

“He's ok? He survived?” Jack asked. True to his carer's words, he had an urge to speak his mind. He suppressed it as he felt more questions bubbling at his lips. 

“Shoulder was ruined, but he fixed it. My name's Kel,” Duran's sister introduced herself.

“Jack,” he said in reply. He winced as she pulled a particularly long red shard from his cheek, admiring it by the light shining in through a flap in the tent. “Where am I?”

“Badger territory,” Kel told him, rinsing her hands in a bowl of water. “We were hunting the troll you and Duran stumbled across. Lucky for you that we were.”

“I can't remember anything after killing the troll,” Jack said. “I think we actually made camp under it to stay dry...” He tried to rise, but was weighed down by the animal skin blanket covering him. Kicking it off, he found his torso wrapped in bandages, the reason for his stiffness. 

“Duran healed the worst injuries you had between yourselves, but said he had to recover his Will before finishing the job. He's eating with the hunters in the food tent,” Kel said, less interested in him now that he didn't have shards of troll eye in his face. She watched him roll to his knees and slowly get to his feet. 

Jack winced at the angry throb of his ribs that came with the effort of standing. He stumbled towards the exit and pushed through the heavy flaps of the tent, grimacing at the tightness of the bandages wrapped around his torso. The frigid morning air of the mountains hit him with an almost physical force after the warmth of the tent, and he sucked in a deep breath, stretching his bandages. The young Hero drew on his Will to warm himself, relaxing as the unused force circulated around his body. He frowned as he got a feel for it—it felt thinner, more fragile than what he was accustomed to. After the Will he had expended against the rock troll, it probably was. 

The tent he had exited was part of a circle of similar dwellings arranged in an earthen clearing. Smoke rose from the roof of one of them to disappear through the boughs of overarching trees, and through a gap in its entrance Jack could see a wooden table with food being passed across it. Suddenly ravenous, he made his way over to it, Kel following behind without comment. 

As he ducked through the entrance to the food tent, he was hit by a wave of smells, roating meat the most prominent among them. Several figures were seated in the tent and he caught sight of Duran ripping into a leg of meat and washing it down with a long draught from a stein. 

“Jack!” the white haired man called across the tent. “You're back amongst the living?”

“Mostly,” Jack said, greeting his friend with a wry smile. He rolled his shoulders experimentally, babying his ribs. 

Duran frowned at the bandages. “Kel wasn't supposed to let you out until I had healed those.”

“He's awake,” Kel said with an uncaring shrug. 

“And hungry,” Jack agreed. “Share some of that meat, you glutton.”

Duran laughed, apparently in high spirits. “Take a seat at the stump!” he said, gesturing his friend forward, indicating the table they sat around. It was not a proper table, but a fallen tree that had been cut down, trimmed back and smoothed flat; the tent erected around it. 

Jack sat at one of the empty spaces at the tree, taking care with his ribs. Kel sat next to him, having speared a chunk of meat from the still roasting pig carcass on a knife. She tore a piece from it in an animalistic fashion, gulping it down. 

One of the few other women in the tent rose and grabbed a carved wooden plate from a pack of supplies, slicing more meat from the roast to load onto it, along with a handful of greens. She lay the plate down before Jack, accepting his thanks with a nod as he began to eat, hunger accepting no delays. As he did so, he missed the borderline contemptuous look the woman gave Kel, which was coolly ignored, before returning to her seat. 

“Jack,” Duran began seriously, finishing the last of his meal. “This is my father, the Badger. Father, this is Jack, a fellow Hero. He saved my life in battle.”

A man to Duran's left seemed to examine Jack, measuring him with a look. He was not old, but his short hair was flecked with grey and his face was lined. Despite this, his figure was that of a hunter's, lean and lithe. 

“Your battle against the rock troll has absolved you of this debt,” Badger spoke, and Jack was struck by the impression that the man didn't much care for him. 

“Neither of us would have survived the troll without the other,” Duran said, shaking his head. “I owe him.”

“The last of our learning metal was used to forge your hammer,” Badger said, not looking at his son. “If you truly want to forge this boy a weapon, you will have to gather more.”

The other clansmen and woman at the table were silent, eating their meals or just watching the discussion between father and son. At Jack's side, Kel was tense, as if waiting for an opportunity, and the young Hero started to suspect that more was going on than was readily apparent. 

“Then we shall visit the deeps and gather more,” Duran said firmly. 

“I have seen bandit leavings along the trails to the deeps recently,” Kel spoke up.

Badger shot a glance at Kel, his gaze unreadable. “I cannot order my hunters to aid you in this task,” he told his sun. “Fox has tested us recently, and we must be ready for them.”

“I will go with them,” Kel interjected again. “Duran doesn't know the area, and they will need a guide,” she said.

There was some shifting and muttering around the table. “Women cannot go into the deeps to gather the learning metal,” one burly clansman told the wild looking woman. “You know this.”

“And I will not,” Kel told the man evenly. “I will only go so far as to aid my brother against the trespassers in our territory. Heroes or not, they are still recovering from their fight against the rock troll that plagued us.”

Jack shot Duran a surprised look, but the dreadlocked man paid him no mind as he looked between the three speakers intently. Several in the tent did not looked pleased at the implication that they might owe the Heroes, or at least Jack, for ridding them of the troll. 

“I find that agreeable,” Duran spoke up suddenly in the wake of Kel's statement. “Jack, Kel and I will gather the learning metal for his weapon and meet you at the village for its forging.” The mountain man took a deep breath, looking Badger in the eye. “Father, will you guide me in the creation of this living weapon?”

Everyone at the table looked to the Badger for his response. The burly man who had spoken against Kel seemed to be the most invested beyond Kel and Duran themselves, almost leaning forward with anticipation. 

At length, Badger gave his son a curt not and returned to his meal, paying no heed to the quiet conversations that broke out between the others in the wake of his decision. The burly man looked like he had tasted something bitter, while Duran seemed well pleased. Kel appeared almost indifferent, and Jack resolved to ask Duran about the situation when the opportunity arose. 

“Come on Jack,” Duran said, getting to his feet. “Let's see what we can do to finish healing your ribs.”

Eager to remove the bandages wrapped about himself, Jack wolfed down the last of his food and followed his friend from the tent. A moment later, Kel trailed in their wake. 

“You're in a good mood,” Jack observed of Duran as they entered the tent he had first woken in. 

“It's been a long time since I've seen my family,” Duran said with a shrug. 

“A sister among them,” Jack added with a raised brow as he sat back down on the animal skin bed. 

“Ashamed of me, brother?” Kel asked without any real heat.

Duran scratched his head awkwardly. “We never really talked about families and it would have been a bit weird to just announce that I had a sister out of the blue one day,” he said.

“If you say so, Durandal,” Kel said, shrugging easily. 

Jack's head turned to Duran as if on a rocket powered swivel. 'Durandal', he mouthed in surprise. 

“Keladry!” Duran almost whined. “No one calls me that anymore.”

“Don't call me Keladry,” Kel scowled, and in that moment Jack had no problem believing the two to be siblings. “I'm still your elder.”

The face of a fire haired child who always had time for her younger brother and was easily bribed with chocolate flashed through Jack's mind and he forced it down, keeping the smile he wore at Duran's argument with his sister firmly on his face. Family discussions between his group of friends were uncommon for a reason. 

“Let's see your ribs,” Duran said, rubbing his hands together. “Give me a hand, Kel.”

Kel found the end of the bandage and began to unwrap it from around his torso. Jack flinched several times as her cold hands brushed his skin, but in short order he was unwrapped and free to inspect his injuries. 

His side was a mass of mottled purples and blues, and it seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat now that it was free of the bandages. Duran's hands began to glow with white light, and he held them over the injury. Immediately, Jack felt his friends' Will at work, soothing the damaged muscles and sinking in to fragile bones. 

There was a different between healing mid-battle and taking your time with it. Willing wounds to heal swiftly enough to be effective during a fight required a large amount of Will to be gathered and dumped in the injured area. That method was clumsy and horribly inefficient, especially for Duran, who had only modest reserves of Will. 

Much more effective was the method Duran was using now, taking his time and saturating the injury with a smaller amount of Will. The details of the healing expression varied from person to person but at its core, the technique remained the same—and Duran was particularly skilled with it. Before Jack's eyes, the bruising faded slightly, and his ribs began to feel less tender. He was breathing easier already. 

“What was this about bandits?” Jack asked Kel as Duran worked. 

“Just a small group, probably hiding out while they wait for things to cool down after some job or another,” Kel said dismissively. “They might have even left already.”

“We should find them if they have. Might be fun,” Jack suggested, perhaps a bit too eagerly. 

Kel shot Duran a questioning look, but he shook his head. 

“If they're not too far gone, I suppose we can have a crack at them,” Duran said flippantly. “The deeps are the real challenge though, don't forget.”

“What are the deeps?” Jack questioned, content in the knowledge that they would be able to track down and kill the bandits. “And why can't women go there?”

“They were originally a cave system,” Duran explained. “Then some lowlander found precious gems there and got it in their head to mine for more. More people found out, and an expedition was made. They picked the place clean and then they started digging. What they didn't know was that the gems weren't naturally occurring—the entire cave system was a troll breeding ground,” Duran revealed with a wry grin. “The lowlanders started digging, the trolls started killing, and there isn't any mining done there anymore.”

“So how are you able to gather this learning metal from there now?” Jack asked, intrigued. 

“We don't actually dig for it,” Duran said. “It forms on the stalactites and stalagmites and we take it from there.”

“Metal forming in a troll breeding ground,” Jack began thoughtfully. “You don't suppose...?”

Duran frowned, thinking, then his brows rose abruptly. “Platinum trolls?” he questioned sharply, latching on to the idea. “I don't know. I'd never thought about that, they've been said to be extinct for so long I didn't think they were more than a story.” He grinned. “Imagine how many living weapons you could make from one of their corpses if it were true.”

“Why can't women go to the deeps though?” Jack repeated his question as Duran slipped into a daydream about what he could do with such an abundance of learning metal. 

“Because only a man is permitted to forge a living blade,” Kel answered. 

“Why is that?” Jack asked. 

“Tradition,” Kel said with a shrug. “Badger was never the most traditional clan, but then Duran ran off to be a Hero, so suddenly tradition is much more important to certain people.”

“They don't like Heroes?” Jack asked, frowning. 

“No, they like Heroes, especially when they're still technically a warrior of the clan. They like it even more when the new heir is a woman, because you can only be clan head if you wield a living weapon,” Duran said, still working at Jack's ribs. 

“And women aren't allowed to enter the deeps for learning metal,” Jack said in realisation. “”Why can't someone else get it for her? That hammer of yours is a living weapon, isn't it?” 

“Special exemption on account of being a mighty Hero,” Kel said without rancour. “Women have become the Badger in the past, but that was only by taking a living weapon by force, and I am in no hurry to kill my father. Duran maybe, but he hasn't been that annoying yet.”

“You couldn't lift my hammer if you tried,” Duran said, apparently indifferent to his sister's fratricidal musings. 

“What is stopping you from just...taking some extra learning metal?” Jack asked. 

“I can't do that to my father,” Duran said, grimacing. 

“And if I take the metal myself, the hunters who think they would be a better Badger than my father will use that against him,” Kel said. 

“So...what if I helped myself to some learning metal while we're there?” Jack asked, unsure of how his suggestion would be received. 

The two siblings looked at each other for a long moment. 

“You wouldn't be making any friends among the clan,” Duran said at length. 

“Do it, give me the metal, and I'll repay you,” Kel told him bluntly. Duran looked pained at his sister's blatant disregard for the clan's traditions, biting back a comment. “Don't give me that Duran,” Kel said waspishly. “You haven't been here these past years. I don't live away from the clan for the joy of it.”

Duran grimaced, making no comment. The rest of Jack's healing passed in silence. 

X x X

Jack was woken the next morning by a nudge to his shoulder. Dawn's early light filtered into the tent, illuminating Kel as she stood over him, waiting for him to rise. The wolf skin pelt she wore over her shoulders and his vantage point afforded him an interesting view, and Jack blushed, looking away. 

Kel made no comment at his actions, but there was a hint of amusement around her eyes. “Gather your things. We are leaving,” she said quietly, before walking from the tent. She wore another animal pelt around her waist, one that reached mid thigh. Jack's gaze followed her as she left. 

The young Hero rose from his bed, intent on his belongings. His enhanced rucksack and what he had been wearing when the rock troll ambushed them were piled at the side of the tent. He made his way over and began to dress. The old rumpled trousers he wore were shucked in exchange for a new, clean pair and the hardy white tunic that all Heroes were given when they first started out was wrestled on. His iron bracers were strapped on securely, and his soon to be replaced short sword was slung over his back. Rucksack at his hip, he stepped out into the morning to join Duran and Kel. 

Duran was again wearing his leather jerkin, but this time had donned his own tunic beneath it in allowance to the growing cold. His travelling pack was already secured around his shoulders and he leaned on his hammer as he waited next to his sister, who apparently had little concept of cold. Still clad in the animal skins that left much of her limbs bare, she was armed with a long, thin dagger on one hip and a shorter, squat dagger on the other. 

“Come,” the wild woman said, beckoning the Heroes forward. “It will take most of the day to reach the deeps.”

Kel led, and Jack and Duran followed, leaving the temporary dwellings behind as the sun continued to rise. 

X

The sun was halfway through its descent when Duran pulled up shot as he led the way up a narrow trail. He pointed, drawing his companions' attention to several clods of earth that had been kicked loose from the side of the mountain path, and the half print of a sandal left on one of them. 

“Bandits?” Jack asked, almost hopefully. 

“Probably,” Duran agreed, kneeling for a better look at the signs. “No clansman would wear sandals along these trails.”

“They're closer to the deeps than they were last time I caught their sign,” Kel added, tugging idly at an errant lock of black hair. 

“Does that matter? We're going to kill them all, anyway,” Jack said with a shrug. 

“You don't like bandits, do you?” Kel observed with a glance at Duran, who shook his head. 

“Not at all,” Jack replied, smiling thinly. 

“Earth hasn't dried out yet,” Duran said, rolling one of the loose clods between his fingers. “Two hours, maybe three?”

“Only one decent place to make camp at that isn't hidden along this trail,” Kel told the Heroes. 

“Where's that?” Jack asked. 

“Small cave an hour's trek before the deeps,” Kel answered. “If they're there, we'll reach them this side of dusk.”

Jack reached into his Will and shook it loose, anticipating a fight. It seemed to hum back at him, eager to be unleashed. The young Hero grinned. 

It took only another hour to reach the bandits as Jack took the lead and pushed the pace. He enjoyed killing bandits, he had come to discover in the short time since he had become a Hero. Each one he killed felt like a small piece of revenge for Oakvale. 

The bandits they were following had reached the cave Kel spoke of not half an hour before them, it seemed. It was only a small cave, set in the side of a middling slope. A small stack of wood had been gathered at the mouth of the cave in preparation for a fire, but it had yet to be lit. 

Jack, Duran and Kel watched the small group of bandits from inside a mass of stranglethorn, a type of bush common to the lower slopes of the Pyrepeaks. Usually claimed as a den by boars and the like, now it served to give them a relatively close view of their quarry without fear of detection. It had hardly been an effort to sneak as close as they were in the first place – the bandits had not even bothered to post a guard. 

“Definitely bandits,” Duran confirmed, sighting the usual trappings bandits tended to wear like badges of honour. “How do you want to do this?”

“Lure them out, pick them off,” Kel suggested. “Even the odds.”

“They're only bandits,” Duran said dismissively. “Probably only farmers before they turned to killing.”

The afternoon sun emerged from behind a mass of clouds, painting the mountain slope orange, and Jack had an idea. A small corona of fire flared into being in the palm of his hand, drawing the arguing siblings' attention. 

“Let's try my way,” Just said, most of his attention on the small fireball in his palm. Maze had warned him about using new expressions in battle without practising them first, but he wasn't facing an enemy Hero now, and Maze never had to know. 

Jack stepped clear of the stranglethorn bush and let fly with the fireball. It arced up the slope, almost invisible in the afternoon glare, and then it impacted. A dull roar echoed off the mountain and a gout of flame shot out from the cave, shattering the quiet of the mountainside. A flock of birds erupted into the sky and a trio of goats fled up the mountain in the ringing silence that was left in the wake of the fireball. As Duran and Kel rushed up the slope to press the advantage, Jack reached into his rucksack to retrieve Maze's book. Taking a slender piece of charcoal wrapped in cloth he'd left within its pages, he made a small mark next to the misleading description of the fireball with a satisfied grin. 

X

None of the bandits had survived. By luck or design, they had all been gathered around the unlit fire at the mouth of the cave. When the fireball had hit, those it hadn't killed instantly had been hurled back by the force of the explosion to collide with the rocky cave walls. 

“Are all Heroes capable of such destruction?” Kel asked, almost uneasily. 

“Most of us, with a bit of talent and a lot of practise,” Duran answered. “Give me a month and I could probably throw fire too, but I know for a fact that Jack came up with that on the spot, and he only conjured fire for the first time a few hours before the rock troll hit us,” he finished, disgruntled. 

Jack pretended to buff his nails on his shirt, and Duran rolled his eyes at him. Kel, for her part, was looking at the young Hero with a considering gaze. She watched the way he looked at the smouldering bandit corpses with a sense of satisfaction and made a decision. 

“Any valuables?” Jack asked, hand held over his nose as the scent of cooked human flesh started to become overwhelming. 

“Some coin, a bit of food,” Duran said, having wandered over to the back of the cave. He threw the small pouch he had recovered to Jack. “Hardly worth splitting, and you did all the work,” he said by way of explanation. 

Kel knelt next to one of the corpses, apparently unaffected by the smell. She tugged at the hilt of a blade fixed to its belt, pulling free a shiny obsidian dagger. It had a cruel curve to it, and a downwards pointing hook near its tip. The wild woman spent a moment admiring it, before adding it to her belt. 

“No point lingering,” Jack said, eager to push on to the deeps now that the bandits had been dealt with. 

Duran and Kel nodded, and they set out again, making for the deeps. They left the bandits where they fell, fair game for the many meat eating creatures that called the mountain home. 

X

The path that let to the entrance of the deeps was an unassuming one, and had Kel not been there to guide them, Jack and Duran may well have walked right past it in the fading dusk light. A small winding path left the main trail and disappeared into a thick copse of trees that sat in the cradle between two of the mountain's grasping fingers. The trees were sterner, more foreboding than the ones populating the Guild Woods that Jack and his friends had often played amongst when they were younger. 

The trio made their way up the path, birdsong filtering through the trees, and if Kel walked the path with more familiarity than she should, Duran made no comment. In time, they came to a small hillock of earth and stone. A gaping black at its base seemed to swallow the path they walked, the rotting, sagging remains of timber supports at the disused mine entrance bringing to mind a crone's crooked, rotting teeth. 

Night had all but fallen as they took in the entrance to the deeps. Jack eyed it suspiciously, mentally questioning the wisdom of entering an old, abandoned mine now that they had arrived. 

“That can't be safe,” Jack said dubiously. 

“It was a cave system long before it was a mine,” Duran answered, shrugging. “Do we push on now, or set up camp for the evening?”

“Rest now, enter the deeps fresh,” Kel said reluctantly. The day's travel had left her tired and in need of sleep, and she found herself envious of the stamina the two Heroes possessed. She did not quite appreciate being outdone by a boy a few years her junior. “Now or tomorrow, they'll still be dark.”

The Heroes took her words to heart, and began to set up a rough camp a short distance from the cave entrance. Jack and Duran set out their bedrolls as Kel gathered firewood, and in short order they had what comforts they could while camped on the edge of the Pyrepeak mountains. 

Eager for rest, Jack retired quickly after a simple meal. His last sight before falling into slumber was of Kel making a med of her animal skin cloak and curling up on it, her features illuminated by dancing flames. 

X

The deeps began the same way you could expect any abandoned mine to: a rusty set of rails disappearing into the darkness through rotting remains of timber supports. 

With only the glowing fae lights conjured by the Heroes to provide illumination, the trio followed the sloping mine cart tracks, the darkness of the tunnel pressing in around them. The only sounds were those of their footsteps, disquieting silence making them seem impossibly loud. The very air of the shaft, undisturbed for so long, grasped at them, stuffy and stale. 

After nearly an hour, or perhaps only half of that, they came across the mine cart whose tracks they had been following. It sat upon a wooden platform, held in place by rope and pulley over a gaping black shaft. The platform itself appeared to be surprisingly well preserved, even usable, but for the rope system that was dangerously frayed in places. 

“Tell me we're not using that,” Jack said, turning to his companions. 

“We could, if you don't mind a quick drop and a sudden stop,” Duran joked. He raised his arm, directing the bobbing fae light he had conjured to follow the side wall of the tunnel over to the far side of the shaft. A narrow ledge on the side wall was revealed, leading to what could charitably be called stairs carved from the bedrock of the far shaft wall. “That's the safest way down,” the mountain man revealed. 

Jack favoured his friend with a look that clearly said, 'You've got to be fucking kidding me'. Apparently misinterpreting the look as one that said, 'What a great idea!', Duran dropped his pack to the ground and leaned his hammer against the wall beside it. The big man began to stretch, loosening up in preparation for the descent. 

“This is a terrible idea,” Jack said flatly. 

“I know you're not scared of heights,” Duran said teasingly. “You won that race across the Guild rooftops easily enough that time.”

“That was under a full moon with plenty of time to catch yourself if you slipped,” Jack retorted. 

“It was also naked,” Duran said smugly as he checked his boots. “Think you'd have an easier time of things if you stripped down?”

“We don't talk about that. Never happened,” Jack denied as he reluctantly began to unlace his bracers and remove his sword and bag. 

Duran laughed at him and began to slide his way across the narrow ledge towards the staircase. Jack prepared to follow, and in that moment was blindsided by a blur from behind that raced over the elevator platform and launched itself across the shaft. Kel seemed to hang in mid air for an impossibly long moment, before gravity re-exerted its hold and she fell—directly on to the steep staircase that led down into the deeps. She turned and grinned at the Heroes as she clung to the wall. The animal pelt cloak she had worn was absent, and a coarse cloth wrapped around her chest to give her greater freedom of movement. 

“Hurry up slowpokes!” Kel said, her voice echoing around up the shaft. 

Jack shook his head and began to inch out over the ledge. The dark emptiness before him seemed to pull at him, and he swallowed. He was not looking forward to this. 

X 

In the end, the climb downwards was perhaps only fifty metres, despite how much further it felt in the dark of the shaft, clinging to the wall. The trio emerged into a near pitch black expanse, caution keeping them near the staircase. Vague outlines were visible in the gloom, and the Heroes poured a little more energy into their fae lights, guiding them to rise upwards. A cavern roughly the size of the Chamber of Fate back in the Guild was revealed, stumps of what were once likely age old stone formations revealed as the gloom retreated. 

The cavern bore evidence of the ill fated mining operation that had stripped it of precious gems, in the form of rusted hunks of metal and broken, scattered skeletons here and there. 

“This was where the lowlanders started their digging,” Duran explained in hushed tones. “Learning metal doesn't form here anymore, or in any of the other caverns that they levelled,” he said, gesturing to the stumps of rock at the edges of the cavern. 

“We should split up, explore,” Kel decided for them. “Jack can come with me, while you look for the caves father told you about,” she said to Duran.

Duran's gaze flicked from Kel to Jack in the gloom of the cave system, clearly curious about his sister's decision. “Jack will have to come with me if you want your learning metal,” he said with a frown. 

“We're not on a time limit here. We have time to look around,” Kel said, shrugging. 

“If you say so...” Duran shrugged, looking around the cavern for something before apparently finding it. He took off for one of the tunnels that led from the main chamber, light bobbing at his shoulder. “We'll meet back here. Don't wander off the paths cleared by the miners.”

Jack and Kel watched as Duran disappeared down the tunnel he walked, his conjured light swallowed by the darkness. 

“C'mon. Last time I was here I found a crevice that looks like it might lead somewhere,” Kel said, tugging at Jack's arm. 

Jack allowed himself to be pulled along, Kel leading the way down a smaller, less cleanly hewn tunnel. “You're not much one for rules, are you?” he observed, feeling very aware of the way Kel hooked her arm around his and held it close to her side. 

“I've yet to touch a piece of learning metal,” Kel said virtuously. “It would truly pain me to disobey my elders.”

“I'm sure,” Jack replied. He ducked his head to avoid a low outcropping of rock as the tunnel began to slope. “Really though, why did you want me to come with you? I'll have to go with Duran at some point anyway if you want that learning metal.”

“Duran hasn't lived with the clan since he was a child,” Kel said. “He respects the traditions in a general way, but they don't matter to him like they do to the older hunters, and I haven't given a shred of a hobbes' mercy for them since one of the Badger's advisors tried to force me into a handsfasting with their son. You don't owe the clan a thing—as it stands, the Badger owes you. Do you think there's any chance the old men suspect anything less than me coming back from these caves with what I need to forge a living weapon?”

Jack blinked at Kel's response, not expecting his question to trigger such an anger tinged tirade. “If you care so little for the clan's traditions, why haven't you taken what you need yourself already?”

“I have to break the rules while still following them to the letter if I ever want to be the Badger,” Kel told him shortly. “Otherwise I might as well just kill those who oppose me, and if I did that I would not be worthy in the first place.”

“You still didn't answer my question,” Jack said. 

There was a bare moment of hesitation, and a flicker of something crossed Kel's face. “These tunnels haven't been explored in years. I'm hoping we can find some learning metal in one of them so Duran can truthfully tell the elders we didn't even lay eyes on any.”

Jack heard the lie in her words immediately, but held his tongue. She wanted something from him, but didn't want to come out and say it. He merely nodded, and they continued down the tunnel. 

“That light of yours makes this much easier,” Kel commented as they stepped over a small pile of rubble on the path. “Nearly broke my foot on that my first time along here.”

“A fae light is a useful spell,” Jack agreed. If Kel didn't want to dwell on their previous conversation, he was fine with that, for the time being. “You'd be surprised how many people don't bother to learn it.”

“Why is it called a fae light?” Kel asked. 

“Because it resembles faeries in their true form, mostly. When they fly around, all you can see of them is a glowing ball of light.”

“I've never seen a faerie before,” Kel admitted. 

“Actually, you might have,” Jack said with a teasing grin. “Faeries have been known to masquerade in human form to seduce mortal men and steal away young children.”

Kel frowned in confusion as Jack spoke before her face wrinkled in revulsion. “That's horrid. Coupling with a faerie....ugh. And why do they steal children?” A queasy expression took over her face. “They don't eat them, do they?”

Jack laughed, the sound echoing along the tunnel. He quieted himself, replying, “where do you think the hobbes they summon come from?”

Kel whipped around to stare at Jack in horror, mouth open, before shaking her head in disbelief. “That's just an old wives tale.”

“That's what I thought, but then I read this study by this old Hero called Prictus, and some of his findings just make too much sense,” Jack said. 

“Seems like you know a lot about this sort of thing,” Kel observed. 

Jack shrugged. “I spent a lot of time in the Guild library during my Apprenticeship. I'd start out researching one thing, then a throwaway line would catch my attention and before I knew it, I'd spent a week looking into it. You know what it's li—oh,” Jack broke off embarrassedly. 

Kel smile good naturedly, not taking any offence. “Badger doesn't exactly have a library hidden away in one of our tents. Father arranged for me to be taught whatever I could learn whenever we visited a town or village to trade, and the clan wisewomen passed on what they knew. I might not have been chosen by the Guild, but I'm no highland yokel, either.”

Jack nodded silently, not knowing what to say. He'd never been in the position of being more privileged than someone he was on good terms with. 

“Here, this is it,” Kel said, stopping suddenly. She pointed at what was seemingly a dark rock wall.

Jack moved around Kel to look back at the wall she pointed at, only then seeing what they were looking for. A tiny, narrow passage, not quite a shoulders width across, was hidden behind a sheaf of outjutting rock, rendering it almost invisible from the way they had come. 

“How did you find this?” Jack asked, directing the fae light a short way down the crevice. 

“Chance, mostly. I was making my way by touch, and found it on my way back. Nearly had a heart attack when I did, thought I'd lost my way somewhere.”

“What makes you think there's anything down there?” Jack asked. 

“Here, have a look at this,” Kel said, crouching down. 

Jack leaned forward, squinting under the light of his conjuration. In the dust of the narrow passage, a series of strange small footprints could be made out, first leading towards the mine tunnel, but heading away before leaving the crevice. 

“I lit up my torch to make sure I hadn't lost my way and saw these,” Kel said enthusiastically. “So? What do you say?”

The young Hero ran a hand over the smooth grey stone that made up the walls of the crevice. “I say it's going to be a tight fit. Let's get started.”

Kel's answering grin almost lit up the passageway on its own. 

X

It was a tight fit. Forced to shuffle sideways down the narrow passage, Jack led the way, thankful that he didn't have his sword and pack to worry about. If not for the light cast by his conjuration, he suspected the claustrophobia would have been nigh on crippling. 

“This thing goes on forever,” Jack grumbled, some distance into the passage. Behind him, Kel made a muffled noise of agreement. 

Their progress was slow, but steady. Every now and then, Jack would pause to check the tracks in the sloped floor of the crevice, half formed suspicions mulling over in the back of his mind. The crevice grew taller and more twisted, the ceiling rising up and out of sight while the walls protruded into the passage in places, forcing the pair to crawl under or climb over in order to continue. 

In the end, it took them near on an hour to reach the end of the passage, although it felt like far, far longer. Jack contorted his frame to get around one last particularly troublesome twist, almost falling out into the empty space beyond. When Kel attempted the same manoeuvre, she crashed into Jack's back and nearly sent him sprawling, the Hero having stopped in place at the sight revealed to him. 

The cavern they now stood in was enormous, easily dwarfing the Heroes Guild several times over. The nearby walls seemed to glitter under Jack's fae light, twinkling what seemed like every colour of the rainbow back at him. Barely visible far above them, the darkness shrouded ceiling was a mass of stalactites, a testament to the age of the cavern. On the rocky floor, spiralling paths wound around clusters of matching stalagmites. The sound of dripping water filled the enormous space, and Jack flared his light brighter, revealing even more of the wondrous natural formation. 

At the only end of the cavern they could see lay a vast, still lake. Its surface was like obsidian, with not a single ripple to disturb it. The water almost appeared to drink in the light, and Jack got a very queer sensation from its depths. That was not a place he would fancy a swim. 

“Pretty,” Kel whispered as she took in the view, hesitant to break the quietness. She almost felt like she was in a holy place. “Good thing silly lowlanders never found this place.”

“Look at the walls,” Jack whispered back, running his hand over the closest rocky surface. “Are they what I think they are?”

Kel leaned in close to the wall, squinting. “Skorm strike me,” she said quietly. “The rock is laced with gemstones. If anyone ever found this place, they could buy Albion.” Her gaze flicked to Jack with a new hardness in it; the Hero looked around in wonder. 

“Let's explore,” Jack said. “We should be able to follow the gaps between the stalagmites without damaging them.”

“Kel nodded in agreement and followed Jack as he led the way deeper into the cavern, away from the still lake that dominated one end. “Who do you think you'll tell about this place?” she asked, as if the answer didn't much interest her. 

“Duran, Klessan and Whisper,” Jack answered immediately. “Probably my mentor, Maze. I think he'd enjoy seeing a place like this.”

Kel frowned, her thoughts drifting to the thin knife bound to the inside of her thigh. “Did you ever hear what happened last time the lowlanders got wind of riches in the mountains?”

Jack turned in surprise at her strange tone, sighting the hard lines her had had settled into and swiftly realising the cause of her concern. “I trust my friends,” he assured her. “You don't have to worry about some fat merchant reopening the mine and deciding Badger should go the way of Otter.”

Kel relaxed minutely. “Duran told you about that, did he?”

“We had to pass by that mine on our way from Bowerstone,” Jack said. 

“Just keep in mind what lowlander interest means for the clans,” the dark haired woman said, her tone uncompromising. “Three can keep a secret if two are dead.” 

A strange, high pitched chitter broke the natural ambience of the cavern, echoing from nearby. Jack quenched his fae light with a thought, and complete darkness swarmed in. He stepped over to where Kel stood and grasped her arm, before standing stock still and listening. 

The chitter sounded again, this time answered by a number of rumbling growls. In the absence of his fae light, Jack could make out a faint glow over the stalagmites, closer to the centre of the cavern. 

“Hobbes,” Kel almost hissed. “What are they doing in a place like this?”

“There must be another entrance,” Jack murmured. “Let's get closer, see what they're doing here. This isn't a typical place for a hobbe nest.” He conjured his fae light once more, keeping it close to the ground and just barely bright enough to see their feet. 

“How do you know?” Kel asked, quietly. “Have you been in one before?”

“Well, no,” Jack admitted. “I've never seen a hobbe in the flesh before. But there's a lot of works about them in the Guild Library.”

“So you really have no idea what we're walking into down here? Unarmed, at that?”

“A Hero is never unarmed,” Jack said in retort, ignoring the rest of her question. 

Kel rolled her eyes, the motion lost on the young Hero in the dark. They skirted around a tall cluster of stalagmites, closing in on the other source of light in the cavern. The ground began to slope, leading them higher the closer to the centre they got. Stalagmites rose irregularly from the floor, forcing the pair to take a circuitous route to reach the hobbes they could hear; the beasts became rowdier with every passing minute. 

As they crept through the darkness, a mental image of the cavern formed in Jack's mind. The very edges of the great space were the lowest, with the insidious dark lake occupying the deepest corner, near to their entry point. As one neared the centre, the ground began to rise into a small hill, and it was becoming apparent that it was there that the hobbes were gathered. 

High, childlike laughter cut across the bickering of the hobbes and they quietened. Having reached the crest of the hill, Jack and Kel crouched down behind a row of stalagmites, peering out from behind the cover it offered to take in the scene before them. 

A messy scrum of hobbes was arrayed around the peak of the hill, mainly before a large boulder that sat at its middle, some of them snarling and fighting with their fellows. They were ugly creatures; their short, squat builds barely reached above Jack's waist, their skin a riot of colours. Some were pale white, others boiling red, and all wore some ill fitting hodge podge of human clothing. One wielded a battered fishing rod officiously, while another wore a Trader's hat with two red feathers sticking from it jauntily. A number of broken stalagmites lay cracked and shattered on the hill, evidence of the rabbles' uncaring roughness. Little better than base animals at the best of times, the brutish creatures had destroyed in minutes what had taken untold years to form. 

The high pitched laughter rang out across the hill once more, calming the last of the squabbling hobbes, and the other source of light in the cavern was revealed. A pale, glowing faerie emerged from behind the large rock formation that dominated the top of the hill, casting an ethereal light with beat of its tiny wings. It chittered at the hobbes, seemingly directing them. The hobbes growled and snorted between themselves, and the white hobbe carrying the battered fishing pole stepped forward from its fellows, apparently speaking for them all. It growled an incomprehensible gabble at the faerie, who chattered back and pointed at the large boulder it hovered over. 

The lead hobbe growled at the faerie again, apparently not telling the glowing being what it wanted to hear. In the next instant, the hobbe shrieked in pain as it fell writhing to the ground, victim of some manner of spell cast by the faerie. After several moments of agony, the spell ceased, and the hobbe grudgingly got to its feet, grumbling darkly under its breath. A decision must have been made, however, because the lead hobbe turned to growl shortly at the others, before turning back to the faerie. It raised the fishing pole it carried and a ball of white light gathered at its tip. Almost as if it were casting a line, the hobbe brought the pole back and flicked it forward. The orb of light gathered at its tip was launched through the air, towards the boulder that sat embedded in the hill. 

It impacted with a blast, sending fragments of rock flying and filling the air with dust. Jack and Kel were protected from the flying shards by the stalagmites they crouched behind for the most part, but the group of hobbes were less lucky. Most of them were knocked off their feet, and all were wounded in some manner or another. This didn't seem to deter them, however—if anything it only riled them up further. The small mob gave a howl and rushed the boulder, hacking at it with their shoddy weapons or just outright attempting to pull at chunks of rock with their bare hands. Overhead, the faerie circled dizzyingly, trilling a gleefully malicious tune as the hobbes did its bidding. 

Not every hobbe turned its attention to the boulder, however. Those at the back of the pack, too impatient and lacking the strength to push through the others, turned their attention to the stalagmites on the hilltop. Working in concert, a fat red hobbe and two smaller ones were able to topple one of the taller rock pillars, cackling to each other as it crushed two other stalagmites before shattering on the ground. 

The hobbe with the fishing pole lobbed another orb of light at the boulder, sending more shards of rock flying and throwing the three hobbes toppling stalagmites from their feet. They rolled themselves over and picked themselves up, before waddling away from the other hobbes and towards their next target—the stalagmites that Jack and Kel were crouching behind. 

The two humans were still as they crouched in the shadow of their cover, the light cast by the faerie doing no favours for the hobbes night vision. As they drew closer, however, the red skinned hobbe began to sniff the air; its squashed nose quested back and forth like a bloodhound's. Very carefully, Kel retrieved the thin blade she had strapped to her thigh, her eyes set on the hobbes as they drew closer. 

Jack drew on his Will, feeling its current as it coursed through his body. It pulsed with his heartbeat, strong and rhythmic. It was well and truly recovered from his desperate effort against the rock troll, if anything the well of his power felt deeper than ever. He breathed deeply, a single tongue of flame dancing in the palm of his hand. He nodded to Kel, and the mountain woman struck. 

Kel lunged through a gap between two stalagmites, dagger held low. To the hobbes, it was as if she had simply materialised from the darkness. The two smaller hobbes squawked indignantly as Kel rammed her blade into the soft flesh of their larger companion's neck, driving it in to the hilt before yanking it out with a vicious tear. The red skinned hobbe collapsed with a gurgle, bereft of its throat. 

Jack stepped out of the darkness, the single tongue of flame in his palm now a long slender length. It flicked out like a devil's tail, lashing the two smaller hobbes in one swing and burning them terribly. They screeched in agony as they danced away, drawing the attention of every other living being in the cavern to the two humans. 

The rabble of creatures that would be only too happy to make a meal of their bones stared at them for a long moment, clustered at the side of the boulder they were dismantling for whatever reason. The lead hobbe growled, an orb of light gathering at the tip of its fishing pole, and Jack exerted his Will almost without thought. The fire whip he held compressed in on itself, forming a ball of swirling flame. He fed his Will into the fireball, just as Maze's misleading journal directed him to and just as he had the previous day against the bandits, only this time he knew exactly what he was doing. The ball of flame turned an angry red, and it began to shake alarmingly. In the moment before it would have exploded, likely taking Jack's arm with it, the Hero hurled it at the cluster of hobbes. 

The fireball hit the lead hobbe square in the head, melting its skin and boiling its brain. The point was made moot in the next second as the projectile exploded violently, killing the hobbes closest to it outright and giving horrendous burns to the others. Only the few at the very edge of the pack survived relatively unscathed, yet they were still sent reeling by the force of the blast. 

Jack grinned fiercely. This was the aspect of being a Hero that he enjoyed, almost craved, the most—not the skill born from hours of practise that allowed you to hit the bullseye with every shot, nor the strength of arms that allowed one to cleave an enemy in two with a single blow. It was the ability to exert his Will, to bend his power to whatever pursuit he wished and in whatever manner he could imagine that he loved. Fire danced to life in the palm of his hand, and he prepared another fireball to deal with the surviving hobbes. In his fervour, he almost missed Kel's warning shout. 

“Jack!”

Jack dove to the side, fire in his hands sputtering from existence as a glowing blue blur darted past his face. The faerie gave a maddened howl as the attack that would have torn out his throat instead left a line of heat and pain over his shoulder and down his arm. The faerie giggled as he gasped in pain, dancing back up into the air and out of reach as Kel sought to skewer it on her dagger. 

Blood dripping down his arm, Jack glared up at the laughing faerie. On the ground, the surviving hobbes were on their feet once more, growling menacingly at the humans. 

“You take the faerie,” Kel said as she moved to confront the hobbes, a meat cleaver she had liberated from a dead hobbe held in her free hand. “I'll keep the little bastards off you.”

A fireball would be too slow to hit the nimble faerie that was darking around above him. Jack shook his arms out with a slight wince as he gathered his Will once more. Sparks began to fly between his fingers, and a single drop of his blood fell to the floor. 

That was the signal. Jack drew his arms up in a rush, lightning blasting forth from his fingertips as he unleashed his second favourite expression of Will. The faerie did its best to avoid the arcs of electricity, but only succeeded in delaying the inevitable. A finger of lightning connected with the small creature, the current coursing through its frame and nearly cooking it from the inside. The faerie tumbled down the side of the boulder it had been so interested in, stopping in a twitching heap on the ground before it. 

Jack glanced over at Kel, and saw that she was dealing with the hobbes with little trouble, like a jaguar toying with a pack of jackals. Almost negligently, he raised one arm and sent a blast of lightning at a hobbe that was trying to circle around the wild woman to come at her from behind, before turning back to the faerie. Kel could handle herself. 

The wound that faerie had given him was bleeding irritatingly. The shoulder of his simple white shirt was absorbing some of the blood, but just as much was dripping down his arm, leaving his hand wet and dripping with it. His uninjured arm came up, a small ball of fire spinning in his upturned palm. He hefted it, once, twice, and hurled it at the defenceless form of the faerie. 

The faerie moved, glowing brighter than ever. Its victorious cackle rang in Jack's ears as it avoided his fireball with ease as it sped towards him, covering the short distance in the blink of an eye. He was able to make out a mouth full of sharp fangs and soulless black eyes before his brain hitched into gear and he reacted. 

His form turned insubstantial, glowing almost as brightly as the faerie itself. Lacking a target for his oldest and favourite expression of Will, Jack merely shot forward until he came to the large boulder at the middle of the hill. His fireball had blasted more of the rock away to reveal a curiously smooth side of stone beneath the craggy outer layer, and he instinctively put his hands out to steady himself against it. 

The second Jack's bloody hand touched the smooth stone concealed within the boulder, the very atmosphere of the cavern changed. The boulder began to rumble and crack, falling into pieces before Jack's shocked eyes to reveal what lay within. The smooth side of stone Jack had caught himself against was part of a stone dome set into a pedestal. How the faerie knew the structure was hidden under the rocky covering, Jack had no idea, but he knew one thing—it was certainly not a natural formation. 

The faerie was hovering in place now, seemingly entranced by the sight of the revealed stone dome; it was crooning softly. Kel, having finished the last remaining hobbe, was watching it warily, but held her ground. 

Jack took his hands off the dome, intending to unleash lightning once more, when his attention was grabbed by the bloody hand print he had made. A strange, runic design consisting of a snaking line with a dot on each side of it at either end, was left untouched by blood in the palm of the print. Almost unwillingly, Jack turned his hand over to inspect his palm and found the same design starting back up at him, the blood inside its bounds pulsing rhythmically. 

The faerie came to its senses, gimlet eyes narrowing in on its would-be prey. It gave an angry yowl and dove for the Hero, clawing fingers seeking soft flesh. Jack flexed his Will, slipping into the rush that would avoid the attack and leave him facing the faerie's back. 

The instant the expression of Will began, a hot, searing pain erupted from his bloody hand, coming from the runic pattern on his palm. Jack clutched his hand as he screamed soundlessly, the pain sinking into his very bones and spreading up his arm to settle in his gut. His wraith-like form glowed brighter than ever, pulsing in time with his heartbeat and the waves of pain travelling along his arm. The faerie flew through his insubstantial body, either not recognising or uncaring that it could not touch him. As the faerie hit him, however, the searing pain issuing from the rune on his hand increased tenfold, driving the Hero to his knees. It was as if the bones in his arm were being used to ferry molten iron to his chest, and he was feeling every torturous second of it. 

From his back, a small, smoking skeleton emerged, falling against the stone dome and then to the ground with a clatter. The faerie's flesh and blood had been burned from existence, and the pain coursing through Jack's body retreated from torturous to merely agonising. 

Kel stood well clear of the kneeling hero as he moaned in pain. The hobbes were all dead, and she wasn't going to risk having her fleshed burned from her bones with an errant touch. She said a quick prayer to the Mountain-Father for Jack's survival, then added one to Avo as well. 

Abruptly, Jack's body returned to its tangible form, leaving the cavern in total darkness once more. The burning pain retreated from his chest, slowly making its way back down his arm and into his hand. For a split second, the pain flared, before slowing fading to nothing. Jack fell forward onto his side, his affected arm twitching. The pain of the wound dealt by the faerie didn't even register after his ordeal. Gingerly, he coaxed open his fist, and a soft blue glow issued forth. Seared into his palm was a pattern he was sure he would now be able to draw in his sleep, the runic marking branded on him by the strange stone dome. 

Jack pushed himself to his knees with a grunt of effort. Cool hands grasped his uninjured arm and supported him as he fought his way back to his feet. His vision dimmed and he swayed dizzily, leaning into Kel to stay upright. His arm throbbed with each heartbeat; it was like he been sunburnt down to the bone. Ignoring the physical discomfort he took stock of his Will, drawing on it with great care. The normal pulsing current was but a series of strained threads, like an oak blasted by hot desert sands. The light shining from his palm faded slightly, but remained bright enough to see vague outlines of their immediate surrounds in the dark cavern. 

“What the fuck was that?” Kel demanded, her gaze flickering between Jack and the innocent looking stone dome.


	4. Weapon

“What the fuck was that?” Kel demanded, her gaze flickering between Jack and the innocent looking stone dome. 

“I have no idea,” Jack said, breathing heavily. Kel guided him away from the tall stone dome to sit him down against a stalagmite. 

“Not in that library of yours, then?” Kel asked, examining the bleeding wound on his shoulder. 

“No,” Jack said, wincing as she peeled a blood soaked strip of fabric from the cut. 

Kel hummed, apparently pleased by something. “Good thing I'm here to take care of you.”

“Yes,” Jack said, straightening suddenly as he focused on Kel. There was something strange in her tone. “A good thing.”

Kel kept humming as she worked, removing the frayed edges of Jack's shirt from his wound, picking out individual threads that had come loose. When the wound was clear, Kel took her knife to both his sleeves, removing the bloody fabric first. The clean sleeve was repurposed for bandages, and in short order the bleeding was stopped. 

“We should get you back to my brother,” Kel decided. “That wound needs to be healed.”

Jack frowned, shaking his head. “I'm not going anywhere until I've had a look at that dome,” he disagreed. 

“You want to keel over from blood loss and whatever that thing did to you down here?” Kel asked coolly. “I can't carry you back through the crevice, so that means leaving you here with Skorm knows what else prowling around while I go get Duran.”

“I'm not going to keel over,” Jack said crossly. “I have to inspect this thing; I have no idea what it did to my Will channels.”

Kel raised her eyebrows. “Can you even cast your spells right now? You are aware that troll breeding grounds do sometimes have trolls wandering about them?”

“This is completely beyond anything I've ever heard of,” Jack said hotly. “If you think I'm just going to walk away--”

“The whatever it is isn't going anywhere. Its been here for a while, and I think it's going to be here for a while yet,” Kel interrupted him. When he opened his mouth to continue arguing she held up her hands to forestall him. “Since it means so much to you, I'll guide you here again, but only if you come with me now,” she said, swallowing hard as she braced herself for something. “And you won't speak a word about this place to anyone.” 

Jack glared at the mountain woman, hackles up at the attempt to order him. “I can't get help from my mentor without telling him about what happened. If you won't help me, I'll find my way back here myself.”

“You've walked the paths all of once, and you don't know where you started from after we nursed you back to health,” Kel said flatly. “Badger has defended these lands from the other clans for generations. I'm not going to let some lowlander spread word of our treasure and watch it picked over by vultures.”

“Maze wouldn't tell anyone,” Jack argued. “You can trust him.”

“What about Klessan or Whisper, whoever they are?” Kel fired back. “You think they can keep a cave lined with gems secret for the rest of their lives? Why should I even trust you to keep quiet about it?”

“I'd never do that to Duran,” Jack snapped. “He told me what happened to the Otter clan.”

“You're already going to tell three lowlanders about this place! How many people do you think they'll tell? Three can keep a secret but only if two are dead,” Kel said, repeating her earlier statement in a near hiss.

“Not every 'lowlander' has it out for you and yours,” Jack told the wild woman, half her face bathed in darkness. “I'm helping you get the learning metal, aren't I?”

“And I'm thankful,” Kel told him, cupping the side of his face, her thumb stroking his cheek, “but I'm not going to risk the safety of my clan.”

Jack glared at her one last time, doing his best to ignore her touch, before relenting. “Fine,” he said with a grunt. “I'll figure this out for myself. But you have to let me look at the dome now.”

“For a moment,” Kel agreed, letting out a breath. “Then we need to get you healed.”

Jack turned to the craggy rock that had so interested the faerie without further comment. A good third of the rough rock had been blasted away, revealing a smooth stone surface underneath. Hobbling over to it, Jack grasped at the edge of the remaining rock and gave it a wrench. The blackened stone crumbled away, more pieces flaking off the stone dome to reveal more of its smooth inner layer. The surface of the dome itself was unremarkable, save for where his bloody hand print once lay. The print was gone, but in its place was a copy of the rune branded onto his palm—or perhaps his was the copy, not the crimson mark on the dome, Jack mused. 

Careful not to touch the smooth rock, Jack leaned in to inspect the rune, holding his right palm up to illuminate it more clearly. Under the glowing blue light cast, the original seemed to quiver rhythmically. Very carefully, the young Hero conjured a fae light, feeling the threads of his Will tremble at the effort. With better light to see by, Jack lowered his hand—only for the rune to stop quivering. Frowning, he directed the conjuration away and brought his marked hand up again. Under its light, the run began to quiver once more. He repeated the switch, making sure he wasn't merely seeing things. He wasn't—the rune on the dome was quivering under the light cast from his hand. 

His frown deepened. Perhaps quivering wasn't the right word. He held up his left hand to his neck, feeling for his pulse. It thumped to a beat—in time with the rune on the dome. His heartbeat. Blood. Blood was the key. But another ill reaction to the dome would surely kill him...

“Alright then,” Jack murmured to himself. “Kel, hobbe blood please.”

“What?” Kel questioned, caught off guard. 

“Hobbe blood. A bloody scrap of clothing would be best,” Jack said distractedly. He was looking over the rest of the uncovered stone dome intently, as if searching for something in particular.

A bloody rag was pressed into his hand and he muttered his thanks. Then he reached out and smeared the bloody cloth across the unmarked stone surface above the one visible rune on it. 

For a long moment, nothing happened, the smear of blood marring the stone without apparent affect. Jack sighed with disappointment, he had been sure blood was the key. He brightened as a hopeful thought occurred to him; perhaps hobbe blood was merely incomp---

The blood smear flared and cracked like burning magnesium boiling on the surface of the stone. The burst of bright light startled Jack even as it blinded him, and he fell back with a curse. 

Kel caught him as he fell, saving him from cracking his head against the ground. She stood behind him, holding him steady as his vision recovered from the bright flash of light. The spots faded from his eyes, but left the cavern seeming darker than before, and in the low visibility he was very aware of Kel's hands on his sides. 

“I'm ok,” Jack said, stepping away from the wild woman. He leaned in to examine what was left of the hobble blood. 

Blackened and dry, the blood was flaking from the stone dome, leaving not a trace behind. It was a stark contrast to the blood that formed the rune, still looking like it had been shed only moments ago. 

 

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Jack muttered to himself. “Kel, can you--”

“Oh no, mysterious Hero mage type,” Kel cut him off. “You've had your look. It's time to head back to Duran.”

Jack glared at her, annoyed. “I just want to try one--”

“Nope. You already tried one thing on it and look what happened. Next thing you do will like as not blow us up,” she said with unusual cheer.

Jack stood, ready to argue further, only to sway dizzily. Kel stared at him expectantly. “Fine,” he said grudgingly. “Let's get back to Duran.”

X

“Took you long enough,” the mountain man remarked as he stared down at them from his perch atop an overturned mine cart. 

“We stopped for an ale,” Jack replied flippantly, eyeing the main chamber of the mine they had first arrived in again. 

“Bring me one?” Duran asked, hopping down off his perch. 

“Nope. Got this though,” Jack said, raising his arm to display an elongated skull.

Duran leaned in, eyebrows raised in interest. “Where'd you find that? And what is it?”

“Found it attached to the faerie that tried to kill me,” Jack said easily. 

Duran sighed, taking in the makeshift bandages covering his friend's right arm. “You couldn't keep him out of trouble?” he asked, turning to Kel. 

“I did my best,” she said, laying a hand on Jack's uninjured shoulder. “But he was insistent on exploring.” 

Jack snorted, and Duran rolled his eyes. “Discover anything in your explorations?”

The pair of them shared a glance, and Duran felt his interest sharpen. 

“You could say that,” Kel said neutrally. “Jack can fill you in.”

“Alright then,” Duran said. He cracked his back, working out several kinks. “Let's go for a walk, shall we Jack?'

Kel leapt up onto the cart Duran had vacated as her brother led Jack down another winding mine tunnel. She hummed to herself, pleased with the way things were turning out. She would soon have her learning weapon, and perhaps just as valuably, a Hero beyond her brother who she could call to her aid. 

X

After the excitement of discovering the gem lined cavern, the beaten tunnel path the Heroes now walked was dreadfully dull. Scattered mining implements rusting into the ground and the odd bone were easily avoided under the glow of Jack's fae light. 

“...and I've got no idea what the Skorm cursed thing did to me,” Jack concluded his story to Duran. “I can't even ask Maze if he's ever come across anything like it, and this thing is looking more and more like his Will markings the longer I look at it.”

“The Guild Head could probably tell you exactly what it is,” Duran admitted, “but I think Kel has the right of it. If that cavern is even half as rich as you say and word got out, we'd be overrun in days.”

“Maybe,” Jack grumbled. “Doesn't mean I have to like it. If I've done permanent damage to my Will channels...” he trailed off. 

Duran grunted in agreement. Losing the ability to channel their Will would be damaging for any Hero, but for someone as skilled as Jack, it would be near crippling, especially at such an early stage of his life as a Hero. “What did this stone dome look like, again?”

“Big and round,” Jack shrugged. “Most of it was still covered by the rock that had formed over it, but it looked like it was set into a pedestal too.”

“Any markings on it?”

“Not before I touched it. Didn't see any others beside this one,” Jack waved his branded hand, “afterwards either.”

“Think it was just your touch, or the blood as well?” Duran asked, scratching his chin. 

“Definitely the blood,” Jack said. “The hand print I left on the stone was boiled off save for the design of the rune.”

Duran squinted at the brand on Jack's palm, his friend obligingly holding it up for him. “Almost looks a bit like the inside of the Guild Seal, doesn't it?” he observed. 

“I guess,” Jack conceded. “I think it looks more like the Samarkand symbol for balance, myself.”

Duran hmmm'd, chewing his lip. “I can see that too,” he said. “Might have to hunker down in the Guild library for a bit when you get the chance.”

“No fighting with other Apprentices for a tome now, either,” Jack said, eyes lighting up. “I can just kick them out and take a corner to myself.”

“Like you didn't do that already,” Duran said with a chuckle.

Jack shrugged, grinning, but didn't deny it. Other Apprentices had learned early on that intruding on his study wasn't worth the trouble. 

The tunnel they walked began to slope, and they were forced to step through a patch of bones that covered the path for several metres. 

“Messy,” Jack grimaced. 

Duran agreed. “They didn't have a chance. Wouldn't have fancied our chances trapped in a tunnel with rampaging trolls, either.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” jack said, tilting his hand from side to side. “I would have just slipped into my wraith form and walked out. You could have just wrestled the trolls out of the way.”

“'Wraith form'?” Duran asked, amused. “You've finally picked a name for it?”

“Eh. It's as good as any.”

“I still say you should have gone with Klessan's idea and called it your assassin form of glowy death,” the bigger man chuckled. 

Jack snorted, expressing his opinion clearly. “I'll call it that when you call your muscle enhancement your macho man mode.”

Duran shook his head. “How about we just agree never to go to Klessan for naming advice?'

Jack laughed, the sound echoing down the dark tunnel. He quietened, and they fell into an easy silence. At length, they came to a fork in the path, and Duran led the way down the left branch. The floor quickly sloped upwards, opening into a small chamber. The roof was not terribly high, and had nothing on the scope of the cave discovered by Jack and Kel, but it was dotted with stalactites and stalagmites. Unlike the formations from the larger cave, however, these were covered in a strange material that glinted and shone under the conjured fae light of the Heroes. 

“Living metal,” Duran announced, unnecessarily, with a sweep of his arm. 

Jack surveyed the metal formations, doing a rough count. “There can't be more than thirty stalagmites here. How often do you gather the living metal?'

“Usually only once a generation. Sometimes twice, sometimes not at all,” Duran answered. “It always grows back though.”

The mountain clansman approached one of the taller stalagmites, producing a small knife from his belt and Jack followed. 

“Do you know how it grows back?” Jack asked curiously. He eyed the stalactites on the roof; they were ordinary rock. 

“Couldn't tell you,” Duran said, running his hands over the living metal, feeling for something. “The clan has only ever gathered it, never studied it.”

Apparently finding what he had been looking for, Duran held a finger to the metal stalagmite and brought his knife to bear. Replacing his finger with the knife pint, he pressed until it sank an inch, then drew it down to the base of the stalagmite. He repeated the process several times, cutting from tip to base until he was satisfied. He then worked the knife into the cut, jimmying the blade sideways into the metal as if he were going to use it to peel the precious substance away—and then he did. Jack watched as Duran worked the edge he had cut loose form whatever it sat on, and then peeled the living metal away in one smooth motion. The metal bent easily, malleable beyond any metal Jack had ever seen, to reveal a perfectly ordinary stone stalagmite beneath. 

“It's just a covering?” Jack asked, puzzled. He squinted up at the stalactites above them. “But there's no trace of it up above.”

“Strange, isn't it?” Duran said. “We've been forging it for generations, still have no idea how it forms.”

“I can't imagine not looking into something like this,” Jack admitted, watching Duran start to work the rest of the metal off. 

“That's because you're too damn curious for your own good, Jack,” Duran said, shaking his head with a smile.

“No such thing,” Jack said immediately. 

“That brand on your palm says otherwise,” Duran countered. 

Jack grimaced, stretching his right arm out, testing the injury. “You'll have to heal me before we make the climb out of here,” he said. “Don't know if I'll make it with my arm like this.”

“My Will is rested,” Duran said by way of agreement. He finished prying the sheaf of living metal from the stalagmite and lifted it off, curling it tightly into a more manageable shape. “Hold my knife, would you? I'm going to go stand in the tunnel and think about life for a few minutes.”

Jack snorted in amusement and accepted the knife, eyeing the remaining stalagmites. He approached a promising formation and got to work. 

X

Jack and Duran returned to the main cavern of the mine carrying their prizes. Kel was curled up on the cart they had left her on, apparently asleep. Her eyes snapped open as they approached, hearing them despite what stealth the Guild had taught them. 

“Find anything shiny?” Kel asked as she sat up and stretched, arcing her back like a cat. 

Jack looked to Duran, not wanting to be caught ogling his friend's sister. The cloth she wore across her chest did little to protect her dignity even in the dim cave, and Jack ignored the voice telling him he could still see her perfectly fine in his peripheral vision. “One or two things,” he answered evenly, keeping his thoughts from his voice. “nothing you'd be interested in though.”

Kel rolled her eyes. “Of course you didn't. It should be around midday now, and I want to feel the sun on my skin. Come on.”

Jack nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. He was not particularly enamoured with the idea of spending any longer in the mines than he had to. “Duran?” he asked, holding out his injured arm. 

“Get those bandages off first,” the big man ordered. Kel moved to help, peeling the scraps of Jack's shirt from his arm. 

“You need to stop getting yourself wounded,” Duran remarked as the white glow of his healing expression suffused his hands. “We'll go our separate ways and you'll start picking up all sorts of embarrassing scars.” 

“Eh,” Jack grunted, finding it hard to worry at the moment. His eyes began to droop, and he leant into Kel for support. He was suddenly unbelievably tired. 

“Jack?” a voice asked, sounding concerned. There was a clicking sound, and something slapped his face lightly. “Jack, stay away now,” the voice continued. 

“Whozzat,” Jack mumbled, struggling to open his eyes. 

“Skrom frak me,” the voice muttered. “He's having a reaction to the healing, I can feel it. This hasn't happened before.”

“Have you healed him too much? Put too much strain on his body?” another familiar voice asked, indistinct. 

“I've never had to heal him as much as I have over the last few days. Shit. The cut is healing, so at least his body isn't rejecting it. Maybe that brand is reacting badly to the expression. Shit, shit.”

“Keep him awake, Duran! We can't carry him out of here on our own. We can look after him at the top of the mine, but he needs to get there first.”

An open palm cracked across Jack's cheek, jolting him firmly back to awareness. Drowsiness returned almost immediately, however, and he forced one eye all the way open. “What's going on?” he slurred out. 

“You're falling asleep on your feet,” Duran said urgently. “We need to climb up to the exit before you collapse, and I can't carry you up there. Can you quicken yourself?”

“Don't have the Will. Bulk yourself up, idjit,” Jack said, eye already closed again. He leaned fully into Kel, the woman now supporting most of his weight. 

There was a brief pause, an embarrassed 'oh', and then Jack stopped fighting the wave of tiredness weighing him down. He fell into a deep sleep, and he did not dream. 

X x X

For the second time in recent memory, Jack woke on an animal skin bed in a large tent, alone this time. His entire body was stiff, unbearable so, and he stretched, almost groaning with pleasure as his joints cracked and his muscles stretched. He kicked off the soft hide that covered him, noting that he was clad in his brown trousers and free of all injuries. He examined his right palm, running his fingers over it. The brand was there, but it no longer glowed as it had in the caves, now seeming little more than a tattoo in blue ink. Tentatively, he reached into his Will, and he relaxed when it answered, thrumming just beneath the surface. Unlike when he had tested it after the fight against the rock troll, there was no fragility to it, no thinness; if anything it felt deeper than it had before. Perhaps he was merely feeling the difference more keenly now that he was fully recovered? 

The brand also reacted to his Will, giving off a glow that was faintly noticeable even against the sunlight that shone through the tent walls. Jack let his Will fade away, and the brand returned to its inert state, little more than a strange tattoo once more. He clenched his fist, hiding it from sight. He had a Quest of his own to pursue, now. 

The sound and bustle of activity intruded upon the tent, and Jack got to his feet. Seeing the pack gifted to him by Maze at the side of the tent, he stepped over to it, cataloguing his body as he went. He was surprisingly ache free. Even the gash the faerie had given him down his arm was healed, no trace of a scar remaining. He rummaged about the enhanced pack, searching for one item in particular. His hand closed around a book, and he sighed in relief. Maze's journal was still safe. The young Hero retrieved a white shirt and donned it, feeling a chill now that he was out from under the warmth of the hide blanket. His iron sword was nowhere to be seen, but a bowl of fruit drew his eye. He was suddenly aware of how ravenously hungry he was. A bunch of grapes was devoured in short order, followed by another. He grabbed an apple from the bowl and began to eat, slipping a second into his pocket. 

Jack stepped out of the tent into the hustle of village life. Pale skinned clansmen went about their business, sparing a glance for him but little else as they hurried through a light fall of snow. Fur lined clothing seemed to be the norm, although it was a far cry from what a city dweller might imagine when thinking of hide wearing mountain people. Long cloaks and well made leather boots were the most common, although Jack also saw a woman wearing a long dress, the wrists and collar of which were adorned with soft fur. Regardless of their raiments, all were armed in some manner. Out in the open mountain air, Jack's trousers and shirt quickly proved inadequate and he drew on his Will again, using it to warm himself. He stuck his right hand into his pocket, keeping the glowing brand out of sight. 

For the most part, the village was made up of small wooden houses and dirt roads, wooden planks covering the road in places to provide walkways over muddy patches of snow. There were also tent dwellings dotted along the street, paradoxically appearing richer and more comfortable with their greater size and patterns embroidered upon them. Jack walked the streets, taking in the sights and gaining his bearings as he enjoyed his apple. The village lay in the shadow of one of the Pyrepeaks, the mountains looming over them in the distance. 

Despite the activity of the village, it was not overly large. It took Jack barely more than half an hour to walk around it and return to the tent he had woken in, finishing his snack in the process. For lack of anything better to do with it, he held onto the core. Looking around, he caught sight of a grizzled elder leaning against a staff, waiting for something. He approached the man, greeting him with a friendly nod. 

“Excuse me. I'm looking for Duran or Kel--”

The old man hawked and spat, the sticky glob sailing past Jack's ear. The young Hero jerked back, pinning the man with a disgruntled look. 

“Badger's son be at the forge with the chief himself. Badger's daughter be running through the woods who knows where, like as not conspirin' with them Foxes.”

Jack got the feeling the elder didn't much care for either of his friends. “Where's this forge then?”

The elder glared at him in irritation. “Head up the northern path. You'll find it.”

“Right. Thanks,” Jack said, sarcasm mostly masked as he turned away.

Not masked enough apparently, as the elder sent another glob of spit over his shoulder. Jack gave the man a filthy look over his shoulder, but couldn't quite find it in himself to throw a handful of flames at the man's feet. He began to walk north, looking for a path out of the village. 

 

The path was found with little trouble. A narrow wooden arch rose over it, drawing the eye, and it quickly wound out of sight, disappearing behind an outcropping of rocks. Jack made his way along it, shivering as a particularly cold gust of breeze blew down the path, confined to it by the firs that grew on either side. He conjured a handful of flame, the warmth of his Will not quite enough to bear the cold comfortably. As he rounded another twist in the path, it occurred to him that he probably should have asked the ill tempered old man how far the path would take him. 

His worry was in vain, however. The path twisted yet again before opening up to a clearing and an impressive view. The clearing was a stone shelf bare of plant life, the edge of the shelf dropping off as if some giant had taken their blade to the earth and rent open a great wound. Beyond the edge was a great valley, formed between two mountains. Glancing back in the direction he had come, Jack could guess that the village he had woken in was perched near the edge of a gentle incline that ran up one side of a mountain, while just out of sight the land they stood on dropped sheerly into the valley he now looked over. Filled with enormous firs and evergreens, Jack could even make out a waterfall at the far end of the valley. Whirls and eddies of snow swirled about in the air, and Jack's breath began to fog. 

The ring of steel on steel drew his attention, and he looked to the side of the open clearing. A lonely stone structure stood at one end, an open air forge. A tall ring of stone, a mound of coal burned brightly within it while a bellows stoked the flames. Duran stood at the bellows, working it with one muscle engorged arm while his father hammered a length of glowing metal into the shape he desired. 

“Duran,” Jack called, approaching his friend. He let the flame in his hand die out, the warmth put off by the forge more than sufficient.

The mountain man looked up, startled by the intrusion. He grinned when he saw who approached. “Jack,” he said. “I was beginning to think you would sleep until Skorm came home to roost.”

“How long was I out?” Jack asked, nodding a greeting to the Badger. He felt awkward, like he should be treating his friend's father with some manner of respect. 

“Four days,” Duran answered, still pumping the bellows. 

“What?” Jack demanded. 

“You heard me. You dropped before we could even get out of the mine,” Duran said, shaking his head.

“What happened?” Jack questioned, frowning. “You were healing me, but it wasn't a large wound.”

“I've had an idea or two, but I've been waiting to run it by you before committing to any of them,” Duran said. 

“It is a serious drawback to your healing expression,” Jack said, troubled. “Could've been worse though.”

“Could have, at that,” Duran agreed. He could think of a few situations he wouldn't want to fall into a sudden and overpowering sleep. 

“What are you forging?” Jack asked, gesturing towards the blade on the forge. “Is that...?”

“It's the learning weapon that will be yours,” the Badger said suddenly, not looking up from his work. “You will be the first not of Clan Badger to wield one.”

“...thank you,” Jack said awkwardly. “I appreciate it.”

The Badger cleared his throat harshly. “Don't thank me. Thank my son.”

Jack looked to Duran uncertainly, raising an eyebrow, but the mountain man shook his head. 

“We began the process the day we returned,” Duran said, “and the hardest part is done. I've learned much,” he added.

Jack just nodded, not sure if Duran's father knew or approved of his children's plan to forge a learning weapon for Kel. “How long have you had your muscle enhancement active?” he asked instead. 

“Most of the day,” Duran said, wiping his forehead with the back of his free hand. “I've been swapping from arm to arm, but it's good practise. I could only manage half a day when we started.”

“Your Will channels are becoming accustomed to the expression,” Jack said. “Just mind you don't neglect the rest of your body, or you'll have a harder time using the expression in full.”

“I'll find something to do that needs it,” Duran said in agreement. “Maybe you could pass out at the bottom of a cave again?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Like I was that heavy.”

Duran took on a serious look. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. I don't know if you were raiding the kitchens at the Guild or something, but you--”

Jack threw his apple core at his friend, shaking his head with a smile. Duran backhanded the scrap of food before it could hit him, sending it flying out over the ledge and out of sight. The mountain man gave him a challenging smirk. Very deliberately, Jack removed the second apple from his pocket. Duran grinned, returning his attention to the forge, and Jack wandered towards the ledge, leaving the two men to their task. A mad urge took him, and he walked to the very edge and sat down, his legs hanging over the sheer drop. From his perch, the trees on the valley floor seemed small, like a child's toys. He began to munch on his apple, considering. Duran was working on his Will expressions—perhaps he should, too.

The young Hero held his left hand out, palm up, and conjured a tongue of flame. It danced lazily in his palm, swaying to and fro in the breeze the flowed around the cliff edge. He concentrated, bending the shape of the flame to his desire. 

The fire proved stubborn, however, resisting his attempts to mould it into anything more coherent than an amorphous blob. He shut the out the rest of the world, all his focus concentrated on the fire in his palm and the Will in his veins. Minutes passed, and slowly, very slowly, the flame began to shape his desire, and a rough figure of a man took form. 

Well. It had two stick-like arms, two stick legs, and what could charitably be called a head, but it was a man nonetheless. 

The muscles in his arm began to tire, and Jack reluctantly allowed the fire to fade away. He shook his arm out, glancing around. Duran and his father still worked the forge, only they had switched tasks, Duran hammering metal while the Badger worked the bellows. 

Jack brought his right arm up and conjured another flame, ignoring the rune branded to his palm as it began to glow. A small ribbon of flame sparked to life, twirling without end. The notion caught his eye; it was almost mesmerising. His mind became unfocused and blank, like he was floating on a cloud. He swirled his fingers in small circular motions, the twirling of the flame increasing in speed. He began to close his fist, and the tongue of flame started to fold in half. Either end of the strand of fire touched, and the twirling stopped. Instead, the flame began to flow in a circuit, like a river of fire in miniature.

The Hero splayed his fingers wide, and the circuit remained. It spun slightly faster, but otherwise remained unchanged. Jack frowned, feeling the expression of Will fighting to conform to the nature of the shape he had imposed upon it. He cut the trickle of Will he fed it, watching as its fuel dried up and it sputtered out. He stared at the rune on his palm for a long moment, considering. 

A single finger of lightning crackled to life in his hand, arcing between pinkie and thumb. Again, he slowly closed his fist, but this time the conjured element stubbornly remained unchanged. He scowled, displeased. He had been conjuring lightning for far longer than he had fire; it followed that he should have greater control. But—perhaps that was it. He splayed his fingers open, trying not to manipulate the expression through base physical movement, but through the eddy and flow of his Will channels. 

The finger of lightning seemed to split down the middle, spreading out into a circuit like it was the most natural thing in the world. Of its own accord, it began to spin, faster and faster, until it was but a blur of light in the palm of his hand. Smaller branches of lightning began to arc out to his fingers, in a random, flickering display. 

Jack grinned triumphantly, his teeth bared in proud victory. An image sprang to the forefront of his mind, sudden and vivid. It was himself, older and taller, standing on the very prow of a ship as it was buffeted and tossed by waves nearly taller than the vessel itself. He wore a dark longcoat and his face bore the scars of experience. His vessel was not alone; a dozen ships of similar size bore down on it, clearly hostile. Unconcerned, his future self raised one arm and unleashed a storm from his closed fist. Lightning crackled and writhed, enveloping his body and swiftly expanding. A wave of lightning swept forth, passing through his vessel without harm—and then it hit the enemy ships. 

Wood exploded violently and sails caught flame despite the spray. Foot long splinters were spat through the air and men threw themselves overboard in an attempt to escape the lightning that darted out to fry their crew mates where they stood.

Jack came back to himself, the handful of lightning still crackling as it spun. It fizzed out with a thought, leaving Jack to stare at the rune branded onto his palm. It might be that the strange marking wasn't a curse, but a boon...

A wailing screech, rising and falling in intensity, shattered the relative calm of the mountain. The pump of the bellows and the ring of the hammer ceased immediately, the Badger and Duran looking back towards the village in tense alertness. The wailing continued without rhythm, the unending rise and fall of it sending flocks of birds into flight all across the mountainside. 

“Back to the village son,” the Badger said, picking up a pair of long metal tongs. He buried the glowing length of living metal in the coals of the forge, hiding it from view. “Our strength will be needed.”

Jack fell in step with the two mountain men as they strode back down the path to the village, the wailing still echoing around them. “What is that?” he asked tersely. 

“Sentry alarm,” Duran answered. “A warning that the village is in danger.”

“It should not have been used,” the Badger added, frowning. “Word of attack should have been carried quietly, so that we might catch our foes unaware.”

“Maybe there wasn't time,” Duran said, lengthening his strides. 

“I ordered hunters to camp all through the valley,” the Badger said. “There should have been.”

The three of them emerged back into the village, finding it a hive of activity. Women were herding children towards a large tent in the centre of the village, while the men armed themselves and gathered in the streets. Thankfully, there was no sign of the enemy yet, leaving them with precious moments still to prepare. The Badger was immediately approached by several men garbed in leather armour, relief, worry, and anticipation on their faces. 

“I'm going to fetch my hammer,” Duran said, already stepping away. “Look after—Kel, if you see her.”

Jack's eyes flicked to the Badger where the man was giving directions to his hunters. He gave his friend a nod. “I'll keep an eye on things.”

Duran gave him a thankful nod and left, jogging through the village. The wailing cut off abruptly, and muttering broke out amongst the hunters gathered around the Badger. He held his arms up for silence, and his people fell quiet, watching him expectantly. 

“This is a raid of fire, not profit. They mean to end us,” the clan leader said grimly. “They know that a Hero is on his way to rejoin his clan, and think to strike at us before that can happen.” 

The Badger hawked and spat, ignoring the angry murmuring of his men.

“More fool them,” he said harshly, beginning to shout. “I want the scalp of each and every goat fucker that dared to crawl out of their shit stained tents to dare strike at the mighty Badger. At the end of this day, I want the keening of their women to echo through the mountains. I want their elders to piss themselves in fear when they think of the fury that the Badger will return upon them. I want their children to pray to the Mountain-Father that we might take them in!” the Badger demanded of his men, his vigour spreading to them. He exhaled heavily, fire in his eyes. “What I want, men of Badger,” he continued quietly, silence falling as every man present strained to hear him, “is for the misbegotten whoresons out there to curse they day they ever considered making enemies of us.”

Jack was startled by the sudden change in Duran's father from taciturn to vitriolic, but soon found his blood rising at the Badger's vehemence. His Will rose with his adrenaline, bubbling just beneath the surface. 

The men gathered around the Badger roared and shouted their approval, bashing spears and swords against hide shields. The clan leader began to point and shout at different groups of men, directing them to different parts of the village, the largest of which went to guard the main tent in which the women and children were hidden. 

“Jack,” the Badger said, approaching the young man. He eyed the Hero, grimacing. “Thank you for standing with us.”

“Duran is my friend,” Jack said, shrugging. The clan leader had reverted to his normally calm state remarkably quickly. 

“I know, and I am...grateful,” the clan leader said, actually looking uncomfortable. “But to rely on the aid of an outsider is to show weakness, and for that outsider to be a lowlander as well...”

“What does it matter where I'm from?” Jack asked, eyebrow raised. 

“It matters to the clans,” the Badger retorted. “When tale of this raid spreads to them, the stories must be about the men of the Badger and my son, the Hero, not my son and the lowlander Hero he brought with him for saving his life.”

“You want me to sit by and watch your village burn?” Jack demanded angrily. “While your enemies rape and pillage?”

“Don't be a fool,” the Badger said sharply. “I am thankful for your aid. But you will not stand beside Duran in this fight.”

“You want me to colour myself invisible?” Jack asked, disgruntled. He was beginning to feel like his offer of help was being spurned out of pettiness. 

“No—you can do that?” the Badger asked. He shook his head, refocusing on the matter at hand. “No. I want you to go out into the forest and find the men who sounded the alarm to the south. They will need aid.”

“You've got a whole village here to defend, and those men are like as not dead already,” Jack predicted cynically. “Why send a Hero away from the fight for that?”

“My daughter was ranging the forests these past nights,” the Badger said reluctantly. “I will not ask you to look for her, but...”

“You think there's a chance she was at the lookout,” Jack said. 

“A father can hope,” the Badger said, “and Durandal trusts you. We shall see if you are worthy of that trust, and mine.”

Shrieks and bellowed war cries signalled the end of the calm before the storm, and Jack had the urge to tell the Badger where he could stick his 'trust', but for the memory of his mother telling him to at least pretend respect for his elders. Memories of his family might be soured by rage and loss, but they were all he had of them. 

“Jack!” Duran called, striding towards them. His hammer was slung over one shoulder, and he wore his leather jerkin. He carried Jack's sheathed sword and bracers in his spare hand. He tossed them to his friend, and Jack caught them easily. 

“It's Fox,” Duran told his father, slightly out of breath. “A few of them tried to sneak in ahead of the rest.”

Fastening the clasps on his bracers, Jack noted the blood smear already present on Duran's hammer. 

“How many?” the Badger asked. 

“Three. All dead,” Duran said. He grinned toothily at Jack, battle lust starting to flow. “You've got some catching up to do.”

“It's only fair I give you a head start,” Jack retorted. The Badger might rub him the wrong way, but Duran had long been his friend. “I'll see you afterwards when it's over,” he said, beginning to walk away. 

“What, don't think you can keep up if you fought with me?” Duran asked teasingly, but his expression betrayed his surprise. 

“Can't make it too hard on you,” Jack said. “Your father is worried about the men who sounded the alarm, too.”

“Be careful out there!” Duran shouted to be heard. “Don't make me tell Whisper about the shit you've been pulling!”

“Hey!” Jack shouted back as he disappeared around a corner. “It's me!”

“That's what I was afraid he'd say,” Duran muttered to himself. 

X 

The snow touched beauty of the mountain village was a jarring contrast to the shouts of combat and the ring of steel on steel that Jack could hear polluting the normally calm morning air. The village lanes, once dusted lightly with snow, had been churned into muddy slush by the boots of men rushing to the defence of their village. 

The young Hero headed south, hoping to find a trail either carved into the forest of left by the Fox clan attackers, that would lead him to the lookout. Given that the Badger had given him little more direction than 'to the south', he hoped it would be so easy. 

Three men, clad in the likeness of the other Badger clansmen he had seen, stumbled around a corner onto the lane Jack ran along. Two of the men were supporting the third, blood running heavily down his leg. Howls and yips made by human throats snapped at their feet. A group of seven men appeared soon after, armed and ready to do violence. Each of them wore a piece of fox hide prominently displayed; one of them wore a tail tied to the end of an impressive beard. 

The men of Badger put on a burst of desperate speed as they saw him. The Fox clansmen, scenting the end of their chase and eager for blood, kept pace. Jack sheathed his sword and raised his right arm. 

A bolt of lightning cracked the air with a boom. It hit the man with the fox tail threaded into his beard in the chest, knocking him from his feet and throwing him down the street where he lay unmoving, smouldering. 

The Badger clansmen passed him, leaving his view of his foes clear. A ball of fire bloomed in his left hand, and he hurled it at them. 

Most of the Fox clansmen were able to dive out of the way. Two were not, and the fireball exploded at their feet. The screamed as they were consumed, rolling on the ground in a vain attempt to put themselves out. 

The remaining four men rushed him, intent on killing him before he could loose another spell. Jack drew his sword and his form blurred forward, glowing even under the light of the sun. He appeared at the back of the man furtherest away, and he cut him down without mercy. He was on the next man before they could comprehend what had happened, his blade piercing the man through. 

The last two survivors turned to face him, their guards up. Jack smirked at them, kicking their comrade off his sword roughly. They glared at him with open hatred, and he ignored the brief pang of empathy he felt. They really had no chance of beating him, let alone landing a blow so long as he was smart about slipping into his wraith form. But then, they had no way of knowing its limitations, and his inability to stay in it for longer than several seconds at a time. 

Movement caught his eye, and he deliberately kept his gaze on the Fox clansmen. He opened his arms in challenge, mocking his foes. They took a step towards him, and Jack's form flared blue, a ghostly image of himself staring them down. They hesitated, and it cost them their lives. Two of the Badger clansmen they had pursued struck from behind. The Foxes died with garbled screams, and Jack cut his Will expression, letting out a sharp exhale. Holding it while standing still was even harder than holding it whilst moving. 

“Thank you,” one of the men he had saved said. He was a swarthy fellow. 

“Don't mention it,” Jack said, giving the pair a nod. “Can you tell me where the lookout post is? Where the alarm was sounded.”

“You'll want the southern camp. Path isn't hidden,” the skinnier of the two replied. “We'd help, but...”

Jack looked at the bodies of the men he had killed and shrugged. “I should be able to take care of myself.”

The two men laughed, and went to collect their friend from where they had left him resting out of sight. Jack continued on his way, stepping over corpses and ignoring the smell of burnt flesh. He swiftly reached the edge of the village, and then he was in the forest. There was blood on the ground, but no sign of Fox or Badger clansmen – the fighting had moved deeper into the village. 

The forest, normally full of life, had fallen quiet, and the fading sounds of skirmish had Jack on edge. Every other shadow hid an enemy, every strange noise was a foe sneaking up on him. 

He found what had to be the path with little trouble; it was small and looked to be only sporadically travelled but for the mass of fresh footprints trampling it. He began to run, a sense of urgency gripping him. 

The sight of an armed figure rounding a bend in the trail halted Jack in his tracks. What caught his eye however, was the figure being driven before the man, her arms bound behind her back. Kel's eyes held barely checked fury and blood dripped from a thin cut down her cheek. There was a rent in her fur cloak, and blood stained its edges. 

“Hold,” the armed stranger said, laying a sword on Kel's shoulder with a slap. “I have captured your chieftain’s daughter,” he declared, hardly looking at Jack as he did Brown eyes set in a bored face scanned the forest. “Tell his Badger person that if he wants to see her alive again, he will surrender to the Fox clan.”

Jack took stock of the man. His sword was one of quality, and there was a second sheathed at his hip. His armour was of similar quality; a suit of polished leather set with steel studs. Ring mail protected the vulnerable gap at the armpit and a steel gorget protected his neck. Brown hair was fastened into a short ponytail behind his head. 

“Well?” the man holding Kel captive asked impatiently. “Go and fetch your chieftain.”

“Who are you?” Jack asked instead. He had a feeling this man was not a simple mercenary. 

“I am Duellist, a Hero of Albion,” the man announced proudly. “Now, hurry up will you?”

Jack drew his sword, staring his foe down. 

Duellist sighed. “You can't hope to beat a Hero, but if you insist...” he pushed Kel aside roughly, and advanced. 

Jack waited for him to near, lunging forward when he was within range. His blade was turned aside with ease, however, and he was forced to spin to the side to avoid being skewered. A flurry of blows followed swiftly, and Jack defended desperately. His sword work had always been near the top of the class, even against peers two years his elder, but this was an opponent skilled beyond any he had faced in proper combat. 

There was a rasp of steel, nearly unnoticed in beneath the ring of their blades, and suddenly Duellist's second sword was in play. Jack back-pedalled immediately, but Duellist gave him no respite. He was completely focused on defence now, the few attempts at counter attack turned aside as easily as his first lunge. 

There was a discordant clang, and the superior make of Duellist's blades bit into Jack's cheaper iron sword. It was yanked from his hands with a flick, and then the second blade of his foe was angling for his gut. 

Jack's body flared blue, and his insubstantial form swept through Duellist and his blades without harm. He dropped back into tangibility facing the Duellist's back – between the man and Kel. He stoked his Will in preparation, his sword lost somewhere in the forest underbrush. 

Duellist turned to face Jack, his expression flinty. “Bad form there, little Hero. Bad form indeed.”

“You've taken a Quest to wipe out an entire clan,” Jack said, his tone cool. “Excuse my poor manners.”

“Oh, they won't wipe them all out,” Duellist said dismissively. “I hear the practise is to adopt the women and children into the stronger clan.”

“That makes it all ok then, does it?” Jack asked, gritting his teeth. 

“You're taking his rather personally, aren't you?” Duellist observed. He sheathed his blades, but rested both hands on one hilt, ready to draw. 

“My friend is a Badger. I don't take it well when someone tries to kill people important to me.”

“Understandable,” Duellist said with a shrug. “I admit, I don't particularly care for my Quest either way. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement or sorts.”

Jack hesitated, thrown by the sudden change of course. “What do you mean?”

“I have heard stories of some rather interesting weapons crafted by the smiths of the Badger clan,” Duellist said. “If one of these weapons were to be made available to me...well, I would have no reason to follow through with my Quest and put every last Badger clansmen to the sword.”

“Filthy lowlander,” Kel spat at the Hero. “You have no right to-”

“Be quiet, mountain peasant,” Duellist snapped. 

Jack growled; the rumbling sound from deep within his chest surprising himself and Duellist both. 

Duellist massaged his brow, sighing. “Ah. Apologies. Regardless, my offer is in your best interest. Without my aiding them, you will likely be able to defeat the Fox clansmen, and then we can see about forging one of those learning weapons for me.”

Privately, Jack thought Duran capable of handling the attack on his own, but Duellist had been surprised to encounter even one Hero; it was unlikely he suspected the presence of another. Out loud, he asked, “you're just going to abandon your Quest halfway in?”

“Of course not! How would that sound to the Bards?” Duellist asked, affronted. “No, I will allow you to 'defeat' me, and-”

“You'll allow me to defeat you?” Jack asked, his ire rising. 

“Your form shows promise, but I am clearly the more skilled of us,” Duellist said disdainfully, “and you have been disarmed. Do the smart thing and take my offer.”

The slow burn of Jack's Will blazed into an inferno, the arrogance of the man before him providing the trigger. Here was a Hero who had come to kill and burn, to destroy a community simply because his greed demanded it. In Jack's mind, Duellist suddenly represented everything a Hero was supposed to stand against, and his fury skyrocketed. 

Fire spewed forth from his left hand, setting alight all it touched. Duellist moved with a preternatural speed, slipping under the torrent of flame and darting towards Jack, his sword half drawn to strike. The fire stopped, and electricity arced out to meet him, only to be caught on his sword and parried into a tree where it split the trunk violently. 

Duellist was nearly within striking range and Jack resorted to an expression he had last used during the raid on the Guild. Time slowed to a crawl, and Jack breathed deeply. 

The lower canopy of the forest was ablaze, tongues of flame dancing impossibly slowly. Splinters from the lightning struck tree still flew through the air, and Duellist's sword was moving back for a blow that would cleave his head from his shoulders if he allowed it to land. He let out his breath and raised his right arm, rune aglow. Simultaneous Will expression was not a feat he had managed while still at the Guild, but this time, he had the control. His Will surged, and obeyed his commands. 

A single finger of lightning leapt from his hand, issuing directly from the brand on his palm. Duellist's sword moved to block it, moving with speed even against Jack's slowed perception of time, but it was too slow. Time returned to its normal flow as the miniature bolt of lightning shot through his guard and hit Duellist right in the face. The Hero spasmed violently, falling to the ground with a muffled scream where he continued to shake and tremble. He still gripped his sword, his knuckles white, and his jaw was clenched tight, a muscle in it twitching uncontrollably. 

Jack stepped up to the downed man and booted him square in the ribs, earning a muffled shout in response. Leaning down, he drew Duellist's sheathed blade and walked over to Kel, who had risen to her feet. He cut her bonds and the mountain woman tore the ropes from her wrists, rubbing at them to restore circulation. 

“Are you ok?” Jack asked, eye the cuts Kel was sporting. 

“I'm fine,” Kel said. “He was toying with me.” She spat at the incapacitated Hero and knelt next to him, fiddling with something at his belt. She retrieved a pair of familiar daggers and returned them to their hidden sheaths on her person. 

“What the hell did you do to me?” Duellist said with a wheeze. 

“I applied a small bolt of lightning to your head,” Jack said, smirking. “It 'allowed' me to defeat you.”

“Skorm take me,” Duellist said, his voice rough. “Didn't feel like a small bolt.”

“I can show you a big one, if you'd like?” Jack offered. 

“No, no, I'll be quiet alright,” Duellist forced out hurriedly. 

“Are you going to kill him?” Kel asked. She almost sounded eager. 

Jack stared at Duellist, suddenly unsure, and the man snorted. When he saw that Jack wasn't rejecting it out of hand, however, he grew alarmed. 

“Wait, you don't want to kill me!” Duellist said, his words almost falling over each other. 

“Why not?” Kel asked. “You were going to help murder my clan. Seems only fair.”

Duellist seemed to realise how close he was to death. “Look, Hero – what's your name?” he asked nervously of Jack, his use of 'Hero' as a name lacking the contemptuous tone it held earlier. 

“Jack,” the young Hero said. “My name is Jack.”

“And your renowned name?” Duellist asked. 

“Don't have on yet,” Jack said with a shrug. 

“You don't – blooded Avo,” Duellist muttered. “Look kid, you're new to this so I'll give you some advice for free. When you kill a Hero, his friends come looking for you. Fresh as you are, I doubt you know anyone strong enough to give mine second thoughts.”

“Maze is my mentor,” Jack said. Name dropping the Guild Head left a sour taste in his mouth, but none of it showed on his face. “Would he give your friends second thoughts?”

Duellist shifted nervously where he still lay on the ground and changed tracks. “Even if no one would want to risk Maze's wrath, word would still get out. Start killing Heroes this early in your career and no one will want to work with you.”

Jack scratched his chin, considering. He'd never properly thought about working with unknown Heroes; his group of friends at the Guild had always been so tight knit. Seeing that Jack was beginning to sway, Duellist continued. 

“You defeated me squarely – even if not entirely fairly,” he said. “For that, I'll pay you what I would have earned had I completed my Quest.”

“How much was the Badger clan worth dead?” Kel asked angrily. She was not happy with the turn the conversation had taken. 

“Twenty gold,” Duellist said freely. He had stopped shaking, and the rasp in his voice was fading. “And for you, I'll throw in the details of whatever you want to know about the Fox clan,” he added to Kel, seeking to appease her. 

“What's to stop you turning on us the minute we let our guards down?” Jack asked distrustfully. 

“I'm a man of my word,” Duellist said, affronted, “and you're a fellow Hero.”

Jack stared at Duellist for a long moment, going over his words and weighing up his options. He glanced at Kel. The mountain woman was fingering her knives, looking like she wouldn't mind carving the downed Hero up – but his offer of information had caught her interest. 

“You've got a deal,” Jack said decisively, stepping back from Duellist. 

“Oh good,” the Hero said with a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to worry there.” Slowly, he got to his feet, moving stiffly. He sheathed his sword gingerly and flexed his hand with a wince. 

“We should return to the village,” Jack said to Kel. “Make sure everything is under control.”

“If Duran is there, the Foxes are already dead,” Kel said with a shrug, “but no point in lingering here.”

“Another Hero?” Duellist asked conversationally as they began to walk back to the village. “It seems the Fox clan was woefully misinformed about you Badgers,” he said to Kel. 

“Yes,” she said shortly, “they were.” She slowed her pace, allowing the Heroes to pull ahead a short distance. 

“Is it strange that I can almost feel a knife sticking out of my back?” Duellist asked, appearing unbothered by the thought. 

“Not at all,” Jack answered shortly, and Duellist forced a smile when he glimpsed sparks dancing between the younger Hero's fingers. 

“That was some pretty impressive Will use when I was about to skewer you,” Duellist said, apparently a very talkative person. “It's pretty rare to see an internal expression of that magnitude on an experienced Hero, let alone a recent graduate.”

“...thanks,” Jack said grudgingly. He was proud of his skill with his Will. 

“How long have you been out in the world for? Strange that you haven't picked up a Name yet. I figure you graduated, what, last year? The year before?”

“I'm sixteen summers. I've been a Hero for almost two weeks,” Jack admitted. “My friends and I were graduated early after the raid on the Guild.”

Duellist looked at Jack sharply, considering him in a new light. “You...are one scary kid,” the older Hero said, before falling quiet. He didn't speak again until they reached the village. 

X

When they reached their destination, they were greeted by the sight of corpses being thrown haphazardly onto several large wagons by Badger clansmen. Each body was adorned by some manner of Fox pelt, leading Jack to believe that he was seeing what was left of the raiding party. 

“Jack!” Duran called from amongst a cluster of hunters. He strode from them, a grin on his face. “My count is sixteen. Yours?”

Jack shook his head at his friend. Duran was normally a laid back, calm individual—except when he had just finished a fight, where he did his best to fulfil every mountain man stereotype one could think of. The worst part of it was the way he didn't even seem to realise what he did. 

“Five,” Jack said, and Duran's eyes lit up in victory. “Plus this Hero I captured,” he added nonchalantly. A number of the Badger clan milling around turned half an ear to their conversation.

Duran's grin faded, and he scowled, although it was devoid of anger. “Dammit Jack, you can't just go capturing enemy Heroes in a kill count competition,” he complained good naturedly. 

Jack shrugged, grinning at his friend. Duran rolled his eyes. 

“Who's the Hero then?” the mountain man asked. 

“I am Duellist,” the man in question answered for himself. 

Duran's eyebrows rose. “Weren't you going to be invited to fight in the Arena? In the group events?” he asked. 

“I was invited. I will fight before the crowds there before winter comes.”

“Hear that Jack?” Duran said. “You just beat a Hero who is going to the Arena.”

“Yes, well,” Duellist said, looking vaguely irritated, “perhaps if I had known I was facing a fellow Hero from the start things may have turned out differently.”

“Keladry,” a new voice interrupted. The Badger approached, blood on his leather armour. None of it was his. He had the look of a man with a weight lifted from his shoulders. “I am glad you are well.”

“Father,” Kel answered, nodding to him. 

“What of the men stationed at the look out?” the Badger asked, looking between his daughter and Jack. 

“Foxes killed them,” Kel answered shortly. 

“Good thing they spared you, eh?” another clansman muttered, none too quietly. It was the bearded man who had been present on Jack's first introduction to the Badger clan. He had argued against the excursion to the Deeps. 

Kel turned to the man, fixing him with a predator's stare. “I crept behind the Fox clan and sounded the alarm after they passed.”

“Without that warning, we would have been hit unawares,” the Badger said. “Our victory today may have been very different had the women and children not been gotten to safety.”

There was a murmur of agreement and praise from the clansmen listening, and the bearded man scowled, choosing not to make further comment. 

“Who is this?” the Badger asked abruptly, gesturing to Duellist.

Jack sent Duran a wary look. Something about the Badger's tone had him on edge. “This is Duellist, a Hero of Albion. I captured him.”

“Fox hired a Hero to help them?” the Badger asked, his tone hard.

“I guess they wanted to be sure,” Duran said, shrugging. “Duellist is a Hero of some renown.”

“He attacked our people. I will see his throat cut for that,” the Badger said, staring at Duellist. His hand drifted to a knife at his belt, and he looked ready to do the deed on the spot. 

“Hey, let's not be hasty now,” Duellist said, raising his bound hands. “I surrendered.”

“To the Badger clan,” the Badger said sharply. “And your death will send a message to any other clan who think to send a Hero against us in the future.”

“Actually,” Jack said, stepping between the Badger and Duellist, “he surrendered to me. After I rescued Kel from him.”

“Then he threatened not only my clan, but my daughter as well,” the Badger said, ignoring Jack's unsubtle reminder about rescuing his daughter. “I have the greater claim to him.”

“The other clans aren't the only ones you'd be sending a message to,” Jack said, standing his ground. “What do you think his friends in the Guild will do when they hear of his death at the hands of the Badger clan?”

A hint of a frown appeared on the Badger's face, and his eyes flicked to Duran. 

“Duran is good, but he's not that good yet,” Jack said. “Duellist will be fighting in the Arena this winter. His friends are likely equally skilled.”

“Some are even more powerful,” Duellist said helpfully. 

The Badger's gaze moved between Duran, Duellist and Jack, desire to strengthen his clan's position warring with common sense. 

“I've already offered to tell your daughter what I know about the Fox clan,” Duellist said, looking to sway the Badger's opinion further, “and I didn't kill any of your people.”

“You seem very eager to turn your coat,” the Badger said. 

Duellist shrugged. “They didn't offer me nearly enough for a Quest like this. The only reason I took it was because they told me a little something about the marvellous blades the Badger clan makes.”

A storm of angry voices rose from the hunters gathered to watch the discussion, and Duellist looked taken aback at the reaction. Kel spat at the corpse filled wagons, and even Duran appeared angry.

“They told you what?” the Badger demanded, nearly spitting with fury. “Keladry, gather the elders. This Hero is going to tell us everything he knows about the Fox.” The clan leader paused, reigning in his temper. “Hero,” he said to Jack, “I appreciate your aid, but this is between the clans, and you are not one of us.”

Jack blinked, surprised at the sudden dismissal. 

“Duran will take you to complete your business with us. He knows what is left to be done,” the Badger said, still staring at Duellist. 

Duran pulled at Jack's arm, and he let himself be led away from the scene. If Duellist had been a friend of his, he might be less inclined to leave him with the Badger and his men, but he was an opponent, even if he wasn't an enemy. Badger seemed more interested in what the Hero knew than cutting his throat, and Jack offered the man a shrug. Duellist raised one shoulder in reply, and then he was shuffled away by the Badger as Kel departed for elsewhere and the hunters of the Badger clan fell to muttering darkly to each other. 

X x X

Night was falling, and Jack was once again watching Duran work the open air forge. The flame had been tapered down, reduced to mounds of glowing coal. A half moon peered down through a clear sky, shot through with what seemed like millions of stars. 

Concealed near the cliff edge on the far side of the village as it was, the Fox raiders had never come near the forge, if they even knew it existed. Duran was adding the final touches to the learning weapon. From what Jack could see, it would be a simple weapon, lacking the engravings of Duran's hammer, but no less well made. Edged on just one side, a groove ran down its centre. The hilt was a basic one, its guard little more than slight protrusions on either side, just enough to keep the wielder's hand from slipping up to the blade. 

Duran was making final adjustments to the weapon with a pair of tongs, working the metal in a way Jack was sure was impossible with any normal steel. He seemed intent on having everything just so, regardless if he'd already done it right. He had been fiddling with the shape of the grip for the past half hour, frowning to himself. Jack had long since made himself comfortable, laying on his back with his legs dangling over the cliff edge. He closed his eyes, beginning to doze off. 

An indeterminable amount of time later, he heard his name called. He blinked, sitting up and working the stiffness from his back that came from falling asleep on stone. The moon had risen fully, and he guessed it to be close to the witching hour, when Skorm could grant his devotees the greatest measure of his power. 

“Jack,” Duran called again. He sounded tired, but still focused. 

“I'm up,” Jack said, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Is it done? The sword?”

“Nearly,” Duran answered, his face illuminated by the glow of the forge. “There's just one piece left to add.”

“What is it?”

“A piece of yourself. You need to put something of you into the weapon to bind it to you,” Duran said. 

“Like what?” Jack asked, stepping up to the forge. He inspected the blade; it looked complete, save for a wrapping around the hilt. The blade was nestled amongst the coals, its hilt sticking out over the edge of the forge.

“Anything you care to. I gave a vial of blood to my uncle to take back to my father when he forged my hammer.”

“I just need to bleed on it, then?” Jack questioned. 

“Only if you feel you need to,” Duran answered patiently. 

Jack considered the weapon, trying to get a feel for it. He didn't feel any particular connection to it, no flash of inspiration telling him what he needed to do. It was just a sword, albeit a well made one forged from precious materials. He enjoyed swordplay, but it wasn't his focus, and likely never would be. He would always look to—ah. Perhaps that was the answer. 

The young Hero channelled his Will, a glow suffusing his right hand as the brand on his palm lit up. He grasped the blade by the hilt and drew it from the fire, heedless of its heat. There was a hissing sound, and the grip was uncomfortably hot, but he held it tightly, refusing to let go. His Will flowed and ebbed, siphoned off into the weapon, and Jack could feel it trying to draw more. He delved deeper into his Will, channelling more and more until the blade's thirst was sated. He cut the connection with a sigh and at Duran's direction placed the weapon into a water trough at the base of the forge, flexing his fingers. 

The blade was mostly unaltered by the experience, save for a new mark on the grip. The brand on Jack's palm, a curved line with a dot on opposite sides at either end of it, now had a matching mark on the grip where he had held the sword. It glowed a faint blue, much like the brand on his palm did when he channelled his Will. 

“Well then,” Duran said. “I'd say you made the right choice there.”

Jack nodded, already feeling more connected to his new weapon. He was struck by a sudden understanding at Duran's reluctance to hand over his hammer to the Bowerstone guards the previous week. “Thank you,” he said to Duran, starting to understand the importance of the weapon. “I'll take care of it.”

“Thanks for saving my life,” Duran said with a laugh. “And I know you will. Now lets see about a wrap for the hilt and a sheath...”

X x X

“Hello? Hello? Is this thing working? Can you hear me Jack?”

Jack snorted and blinked as he woke, kicking the animal hide blanket off. “Whozzat? Klessan?” he asked, talking to the empty tent. 

“Hello? Jack? Oh, bother, you probably don't know how to use this damn thing either,” Klessan's voice continued, trailing off into a mutter. She began to speak as one would to a favoured grandparent, hard of hearing. “You need to find your Guild Seal, your Guild. Seal. and push some Will into it.”

Jack rolled off the furs he lay upon, towards his travelling pack, readied the previous night. He reached into the bigger on the inside bag and began to rummage around. 

“Ok, when you have your Guild Seal and you've pushed your Will into it like a little ball--”

Jack rolled his eyes at his friend as she continued to 'guide' him. He had tried to walk her through a Will expression once. The way she described things had just about twisted his mind in knots. 

“--and then you have to go to the wavy meditation place so you can feel all the little strings coming off the Seal--”

His hand closed over the Seal, and a thrill of power ran along his arm. 

“--so after you've done that, you should be in a big open space with only one more little string--”

“For the love of Avo Klessan, stop already,” Jack grumbled channelling his Will through the Seal, allowing it to flow down the connection he could feel running off it. 

“Oh, that was quick. Hi Jack!” Klessan said. He had no trouble picturing the cheerful grin on her face. 

“Hello Klessan,” Jack said in turn, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Stop grumbling at me. You can't have just woken up.”

Jack grunted indecipherably at her, and her laughter echoed down the Guild Seal. 

“Lazybones,” she said teasingly. “What have you been up to these last weeks? I heard you and Duran took a Quest together.”

“Yeah, escort and protect. It went well enough,” Jack said, searching for his pants with one hand. Digging through his pack was awkward when he had to keep one hand on the Guild Seal. “We got a pair of nice trophies out of it, and we got paid in gold.”

“Boo,” Klessan said, and Jack could imagine her pout. “I walked a pair of Traders from Bowerstone to a trading town near my village and got silvers for my troubles. Only trophy I got was a lousy hobbe head, too, and every Hero and their pet giraffe has one of those, so good luck showing it off.”

“What is a giraffe?” Jack asked in confusion, before wincing. 

“They come from Samarkand, they've got necks as tall as three men and four skinny legs almost as long and they're yellow with brown spots,” Klessan answered, happy to show off her wide knowledge of fauna. 

Jack didn't question her further and made no mention of how ridiculous the creature sounded. He and Whisper had done that once, and only once. He still had his doubt about the thing Klessan called a platypus, evidence she had browbeaten them with notwithstanding. 

“Right,” he said, and she laughed again. 

“Have you made a whole bunch of new Will things yet?” Klessan asked innocently. 

“Only a few,” Jack answered, ignoring her baiting. “Really just refining expressions I've already got down. Oh, I can throw fire now though.”

“'Oh, no big deal but I can breathe fire now Klessan',” she said. A noise that sounded suspiciously like a raspberry followed. 

“I can't actually—you know, that does sound like a cool idea. I could work the exhale into the expression as fuel, too...” Jack said consideringly. 

“Alright, alright,” Klessan said. She was probably rolling her eyes. “Hold your horses before you start thinking of ways to turn yourself into a dragon.”

“Like I'd want to turn myself into a dragon,” Jack said, sniffing disdainfully. “Can you imagine the ego that would give someone?”

“Mmhmm, right,” Klessan said. “I actually have a reason for—uhm--calling you up like this.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked. He had finally retrieved his pants and was working at hopping into them. 

“Beyond gracing you with the sound of my voice, I mean.”

“Yes, beyond that.”

“I'm inviting you to come visit! I asked Whisper, but apparently she's busy doing something with her brother,” Klessan said, sounding disappointed. “But you can come, and you can ask Duran as well. This whole Seal talk thing is giving me a headache.”

“Where am I visiting, exactly? And I don't think Duran will be able to trek across the country any time soon, he has some...clan duties he has to attend to.” That those duties likely involved leading a revenge raid against the Fox clan, Jack didn't care to explain while talking through the Seal. 

“Of course he does,” Klessan said. “But you can still come, right? I'm sure not all of my friends would abandon me, right?”

Jack sighed at the wheedling tone Klessan's voice had taken. She had used it often at the Guild, usually whenever Jack or Duran had managed to snag a serving of her favoured dessert before her. “Yes, I can still come. No, not all your friends have abandoned you,” he said with put upon suffering. 

“Excellent!” Klessan said. “You know that trading town near Shallowshoal Bay? Oxtooth Hold? The one that sprang up around the Cullis Gate,” she said, mentioning a surviving Old Kingdom creation that experienced Heroes used as a lightning rod for teleportation expressions. 

“I think I know it,” Jack said. “I can find it on a map, at least. It's the mouth of the Bower river, right?”

“It's a bit north, but inside a days travel. Actually, where are you now?”

“I'm with Duran's clan. Somewhere in the northern-most group of the Pyrepeaks, but I couldn't tell you where exactly.”

“The plainsmen should still be holding their spring muster at Naiad lake. You could find your way there and buy a horse,” Klessan said. “It would make the second half of your journey easier, at least.”

“I don't know the first thing about riding a horse,” Jack said. He shrugged his shirt on and began looking for his shoes. “Horse nomads would probably fleece me anyway.” 

“Probably,” Klessan said. “If you can get to Oxtooth Hold in a week, I'll be there to meet you. My family will be there to sell the latest haul.” 

“Turning to fishing already? Life of a Hero not for you?” Jack said teasingly. Klessan had mentioned numerous times how glad she was to have something other than the dull life of a fisherwoman ahead of her. 

“I will put bait in your trousers,” Klessan said seriously. “Ma is intent on teaching me about my 'heritage' before I become 'lost to all that adventuring nonsense, just like Great Aunt Thelma!'” she finished in a rebellious mutter.

Jack laughed at her tone. “So, Oxtooth Hold, one week?”

“Sounds good! I'll see you there Jack!”

Jack allowed his Will to fade from the connection in his Guild Seal, before eyeing it appraisingly. He knew magic was a function of its design from the way it had reacted to him after first touching it, but he hadn't spared a thought to any practical applications it might have. The connection he could feel and make use of to talk to other Seal holders might also be part of the reason Maze had made sure the first bare skin to touch each Seal was that of their owner. 

A discreet cough distracted him from his thoughts. Kel stood at the tent entrance, clad in her usual wolf furs and was watching him with an unusual look in her eye. 

“I was talking to my friend, Klessan,” he said, feeling compelled to explain. 

Kel glanced around the empty tent. She leaned back slightly, and adopted and even, calm tone. “Do you talk to his Klessan often?” 

“Not since I became a Hero,” Jack answered, raising an eyebrow at Kel's behaviour. 

“And is Klessan still with us now?” Kel asked, and Jack realised was was purposefully making herself seem non-threatening.

“What? Oh, for--” Jack said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Klessan is a friend from the Guild who graduated with Duran and me. We were talking through our Guild Seals. You couldn't hear her?”

Relief passed over Kel's face. “Oh, good. I was worried you were sky touched. I could only hear you talking to yourself.”

“You couldn't hear us talking?” Jack asked.

Kel shook her head. “Just you, carrying half a conversation by yourself. Alone. With no one else in sight,” she said, smirking.

Jack rolled his yes. “Yes Kel. Thank you Kel.”

“You're welcome,” she said virtuously, before frowning. “Does this mean you're leaving?”

“Today, probably,” Jack said. He suddenly felt uncomfortable under Kel's gaze. 

“You don't have to leave, you know,” Kel said after a moment, her voice low. “the clan would be happy to have you here. I would be happy to have you here. And grateful.”

“I'm to meet Klessan near the coast in a week,” Jack said, trying not to linger on just how Kel might show her gratitude. 

“You could talk to her now, postpone your meeting,” Kel said. “Stay to celebrate your victory with the clan, at least.”

“I'm not really one for victory celebrations,” Jack said, turning to busy himself with his pack. 

There was a long pause before Kel spoke again.

“Badger is to take the fight to Fox as soon as we are able,” she said quietly. “We could use your aid.”

“Duran is more than capable of handling a few enemy clansmen,” Jack said. The more Kel attempted to sway him, the more the open road appealed to him, and he wasn't sure why. “You could always conscript Duellist if you really think you need another Hero.”

Kel sighed, and Jack chanced a glance at her. She looked frustrated, but it was quickly smoothed into an expression of acceptance. “If you're sure,” she said resignedly, coming over to sit beside him. She leaned into him, one arm curling around his side. 

Jack put an arm around her in return, his hand coming to rest on her hip. She was pleasantly warm against him, and undeniably a woman. “It's not like you won't see me again,” he said, feeling compelled to reassure her. “I just need to...move forward.”

“Good,” Kel said, still pressed against him. “Maybe then I can find some way to thank you for what you've done for me.”

Jack held his tongue, his imagination showing him exactly how Kel could thank him with vivid clearness. His hand crept lower to her thigh, and Kel made no protest. 

“Jack!” 

A hollered greeting from outside the tent broke the moment, and Jack almost jumped away from Kel, startled. 

“Time to be awake, you lazy sod! Don't make me come in there with a bucket!”

Jack cursed Duran inwardly as his friend hailed the tent, and Kel looked none too pleased with her brother either. 

“I'm already awake you oaf! And now the rest of the clan is too!”

“The clan has been awake since the sun rose,” Duran said, ducking into the tent. “Unlike certain people I won't name, we don't believe in wasting daylight. Hello, Kel.” He took in the pair of them, sitting apart from each other on the bed, but made no further comment. 

“Why are you so chipper?” Jack asked. He hadn't been the only one amongst his circle of friends to enjoy a good sleep in, rare as they were at the Guild.

Duran grinned down at him. “It's done. I finished it.”

“What?” Jack asked, before his mind caught up and he brightened. 

“Your sword is complete,” Duran said, confirming Jack's thoughts. “I finished binding the hilt not ten minutes ago.”

“Can I see it?” Jack asked, leaping to his feet in his excitement. 

“No,” Duran said, deadpan. “I think I'll hide it and just tell you about it.”

Jack thumped his friend on the arm, too eager to bother sassing him back.

“Come on,” Duran said, still grinning. “My father has it. Said he wanted to give it to you himself.”

Duran led the way, Jack and Kel following. The young Hero shaded his eyes as he stepped out into the world. A fresh dusting of snow had fallen in the night, reflecting the sunlight back up at him. Blue skies stretched as far as the eye could see, and the Pyrepeaks deeper in the mountain range loomed imposingly, reaching up into the sky like the fingers of some great titan. 

The attitude of the clansmen they passed was slightly different today. They smiled and greeted Duran like a favoured son, and where yesterday Jack had been eyed with the caution all lowlanders apparently deserved, now he was afforded a courteous nod of respect. They even passed one of the men Jack had saved from the pursuing group of Fox clan, and they beat a fist to their chest in greeting. Jack raised a hand in response, and that was that. 

“People are rather a bit friendlier than they were yesterday,” Jack said to Duran. 

“Yesterday you hadn't defended the village from a Hero and rescued the chieftan's daughter,” Duran said, shrugging. “Also, word got out that we killed a rock troll.”

“Pity we couldn't grab something for a trophy,” Jack said. 

“You mean something like ruby shards of a troll eye that had to be picked from your face?” Kel asked, mock thoughtful.

“Hey, yeah!” Jack said with a pleased grin. “I'd forgotten about that.”

“You would,” Duran said with a snort. “Could have had some interesting scars as a reminder if I hadn't been there to heal you though.”

“But you were, and I don't,” Jack said, shrugging. 

“True,” Duran said, and then they were at their destination. 

The three of them entered the central tent of the village, the one that had sheltered the women and children during the raid. It was mostly empty now, any Badger clansmen who might have cause to be there busy with other tasks. The Badger sat at one of the long tables within, a sheathed sword before him. 

“Father,” Duran said.

“Please, sit,” Badger said. 

Jack and Duran took a seat across from the clan leader, while Kel lounged against the table, staying on her feet. 

Jack eyed his blade, taking it in. The hilt had been wrapped tightly with a coarse string of black leather, bound from pommel to guard. The sheath was a simple one; two pieces of hardened brown leather stitched together. It looked to fit the blade perfectly. 

“This sword is a learning weapon of the Badger clan,” Badger said at length. “It has been forged with skill by one of our own, and it is a blade worthy of standing with any other learning weapon forged by our forefathers.”

Duran straightened at the pride in his father's voice. 

“You are not of the Badger, but you have earned the right to wield this sword, Jack of Oakvale. It was forged for you and only you. It will grow as you grow, learn as you learn and as long as there is breath in your body it will not let you down.”

Jack met the Badger's eyes and refused to look away as he spoke. He listened to the ritualistic words and kept his expression blank at the mention of the town of his birth. 

“This weapon is yours now,” Badger finished, taking up the sword and handing it hilt first to Jack. “Use it as you will.”

Jack accepted the blade without hesitation. A thrill of power ran up his arm as his right hand closed over the hilt, and he knew without looking that the the rune branded to his palm was aglow. 

“My son's debt to you is paid,” the Badger said with satisfaction. “Do you agree?” he asked sharply. 

Jack nodded, looking to Duran. His friend knew he would never expect repayment for saving his life, but the mountain man shrugged, and smiled. 

“Good,” Badger said, rising from his seat. “Keladry, a word.”

The two Heroes watched as the Badger and his daughter departed, leaving them alone. 

“How does it feel?” Duran asked eagerly. 

“Power,” Jack answered immediately. “I feel like I could call down a thunderstorm with this in my hand.”

“The first time I took up my hammer I felt like I could tear down a mountain stone by stone,” Duran said. “Just wait until you use it in battle for the first time.”

“I'll have to track down some bandits on the way to Oxtooth Hold,” Jack said. 

“Don't go too rabid on the bandits now, or you'll end up with Bandit Killer or something equally lame as your Name,” Duran said. His tone was joking, but his eyes were serious. “Why make for Oxtooth Hold?”

“Klessan contacted me this morning—did you know we could talk to other Heroes through our Guild Seals?” Jack asked.

“No. Neat trick though. You'll have to show me how.”

“Before I leave,” Jack promised. “Klessan wanted all of us to meet up, but Whisper is busy with her brother and I figured you wouldn't be quite ready to leave your clan.”

“Not with Fox being so aggressive,” Duran agreed. “Shame. Its been strange, not seeing the girls every day these past weeks.”

Jack shrugged and continued. “I'm planning on heading back to the mine owned by Ian Ducal. I should be able to get free passage to Bowerstone at least, and from there I can follow the river to Oxtooth Hold.”

“Oxtooth is the trading town with the Cullis Gate, right? Near Klessan's home village?”

“Right. I'm not sure what she has in mind, but it won't be any trouble to use the Cullis Gate to return to the Guild and pick up a Quest,” Jack said. 

“Don't get carried away,” Duran said with a laugh. “You know what Klessan can be like.”

Jack made a face, once again remembering the bet that saw him and two other Apprentices racing naked across the Guild rooftops. “All too well,” he said. 

“If you want to make it to the Ducal mine before dusk tomorrow you'll have to leave sooner rather than later,” Duran said, his tone betraying none of the enmity he felt for the mine owners. 

“I was planning to see you and leave as soon as I woke, but Kel ambushed me,” Jack admitted. 

Duran eyed his friend knowingly. “Did she now? I saw her go into your tent.”

“I wasn't—not with—she's your sister,” Jack said defensively. “She tried to persuade me to stay,” he told his friend. “She was pretty intent on it.”

Duran actually looked concerned for a moment. “Kel..isn't the same sister I remember. She's been filling me in on the things Father didn't want to put to paper. I didn't shout out earlier to protect her virtue. I was more worried about what you might get wrapped up in,” he said, as if pained. 

“Something to be worried about?” Jack asked. 

Duran shook his head. “Just clan issues. Kel was like as not—ah, nevermind.”

Jack stared at his friend, waiting for a proper answer. His friends knew better than to dangle half a tale before him and expect him to let it lie. 

Duran scowled, recognising the look. “It's clan politics, and you shouldn't have to get wrapped up in it. Kel just wanted another Hero firmly on her side of the fence.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, silently asking why Kel felt the need to gather Heroes to her side. 

“Clan issues,” Duran said forcefully. “Don't worry about it.” He drummed his fingertips on the table. “If more heads need cracking than I can handle, then I'll tell you more.”

“Whisper and Klessan too,” Jack said. “You know they won't forgive you if you needed help and didn't ask them.”

“Yes, well,” Duran said, looking less than enthused at the idea. “It won't come to that. It's just clan politics.”

“If you say so,” Jack said, letting the matter rest.

“I do say so,” Duran said. He rose from his seat, and Jack followed suit. “Seeing as you were unconscious when we arrived here, we'll have to see about a map for you...”

The pair left the tent, Jack holding his new weapon securely. His time with the Badger clan was nearing its end. 

X

Jack stood on the path leading out of the village, facing south. His bigger on the inside travel pack was on his back and his fantastic new sword was at his hip. Duran stood by him, seeing him off. Kel had vanished into the forests again after a short goodbye, apparently not one for lingering farewells. She had given him a gift before disappearing, a phial holding a number of tiny red shards. The shattered remains of the troll eye would fetch a pretty price at any market, not that he cared to sell them, however. 

“How long do you think you'll remain here for?” Jack asked, staring down the path he was to travel. 

Duran shrugged. “I couldn't say. Could be months.”

“We have to meet up at some point. All of us,” Jack said. “I don't want to be one of those Heroes who lose all contact with their friends until they find themselves on the opposite side of a Quest.”

“We'll make sure we aren't then,” Duran said. “If we haven't all come together by the summer solstice next year, we'll make sure we do before Skormdron's Eve.”

“Deal,” Jack said, clasping Duran's arm in farewell. “I'll hold you to it.”

They shook, and Jack stepped away, beginning his journey once more.

“Try to avoid getting injured,” Duran called out. “If only for the novelty of it!”

Jack made a gesture not commonly used in polite society, and Duran responded in kind. Then the path twisted around a copse of trees, and his journey was truly underway once more.

X

Jack followed the mountain trail for not even an hour before his trip was interrupted. Leaning casually against a large boulder to one side of the path was a familiar figure, eyes closed in thought like it was the most normal place in the world to stop and contemplate life. They pushed themselves off the boulder as Jack came to a stop, brushing dust off rich purple robes.

“Jack,” Maze, leader of the Heroes Guild said by way of greeting. “How have you been enjoying that book I gave you?”


	5. Hope

“Sir,” Jack said, the politeness of his words marred by the scowl on his face. “The book. Love it. Favourite piece of fiction this year.”

Maze smirked, arms folded across his chest. “You expected me to write down a list of my Will expressions for you to peruse and learn at your leisure?”

“...no,” Jack muttered, the tips of his ears red. He had believed it, if only for a short while. 

“How far have you read?” Maze asked. 

“Only partway through the section on preparing and moulding your Will channels,” Jack said. 

“You need not look for errors in the theoretical chapters, only in the Will expressions,” Maze said, confirming a hope Jack held. “I take it you have explored the basic fireball?”

“Yeah, just a bit,” Jack said. 

“Show me,” Maze demanded. 

Jack turned away from his mentor and drew his hand back over his shoulder, calling on his Will, and a long tongue of flame sprouted from his palm. His arm snapped out and the ribbon of fire lashed the ground, leaving a blackened score on the path.

“Interesting,” Maze said, observing the flame whip Jack held. “Most would try to merely fix the expression as it was detailed.”

“I did that too,” Jack said. “I can conjure a ball of fire that can be thrown and will explode on impact.”

“Good. Basic, but good,” Maze said. 

“Basic?” Jack asked, frowning as he let the flame whip fade. He had thought himself to be doing rather well.

“There is a reason most children's fantasies and Bards' tales of magic revolve around conjuring fire and frost, or summoning lightning,” Maze said. “It is because they are simple expressions, easily achieved, and nature itself does not fight them...overly much, at least.”

“Fight them?” Jack asked, puzzled. “Oh. Because they already exist in nature.”

“Correct. What sets spellweavers like you and I apart from mere Will using Heroes is the lengths to which we exert our Will upon the world,” Maze said, expanding on his impromptu lecture. “Observe.”

Jack watched as his mentor faded from sight before his eyes. Footprints appeared in the dirt, the only sign of the Guild leader's presence. Abruptly, Maze reappeared—ten feet to the side of where his footprints said he stood. Another Maze appeared, then another, and another. They faded after a few moments and then the original reappeared, eyeing his student. 

“Control of the elements is all well and good, and there are some Heroes, like Thunder, who have gained mastery over one or the other to an extreme degree, but they are but stepping stones,” Maze said, the Will patterns on his face glowing slightly. 

“You call me a spellweaver,” Jack said, “but what makes that so? If my fire expressions are so basic, I mean.”

Maze eyed him dryly. “Your very first expression of Will was of a sort some Heroes never think to explore or attempt.”

“So because my wraith form is something not found in nature, it's of a higher level?” Jack asked, turning over the concept in his mind.

“To a point,” Maze allowed, quirking an eyebrow at the name of the expression. “The elements – these are base things, akin to the building blocks of the world. They can be defended against or avoided with relative ease. Your 'wraith form', as you call it, is different. Not due to anything as plebian as 'power', but—I can recall a spellweaver who could turn their form to smoke and avoid almost all harm. They could even be inhaled by their foes and attack their bodies from the inside. Do you see how this expression and your wraith form are alike? How they differ from the ability to throw a handful of flames at your enemy?” Maze asked, watching as Jack put the pieces together. 

“It's not about power,” Jack said slowly. “It's about..how you use it? Using it for more than just force?”

“Close,” Maze said. “Keep going.”

“Conjuring fire is like hitting someone in the face with a club. Manipulating the world,” Jack said. “But my wraith form is exerting my Will on the world, changing it. It's more...refined?”

“You have the beginnings of the concept, which is more than some Heroes ever realise,” Maze said approvingly. 

“I think I have it,” Jack said, taking in the new information. Any Hero could fool about with the elements, but Maze seemed to be saying that true Will users used their power in ways that could not be simply guarded against.

“Of course, there are many who say that sort of distinction is the highest form of magical snobbery, and that Will is Will,” Maze said, scratching his chin. “Very few of them are spellweavers, however.”

“What happened to the Hero who could turn themselves to smoke?” Jack asked, feeling slightly queasy at the idea. He had never heard of a Hero known for that ability.

A far away look came over Maze's face. “She tried it on me,” he said, as if that was all that need be said. And it was. The archmage coughed slightly, coming back to himself. “Interesting as this lesson might be, I did not come all the way out here to give you a lecture,” he revealed. 

“Hod did you find me?” Jack asked. 

“Your Guild Seal,” Maze answered. 

“Can every Hero be tracked by their Seal?” Jack asked, not sure how much he liked the idea. 

“Only by those with both a link to your Seal and the affinity to do so,” Maze said.

“So you're the only one who can use it to track me?” Jack sought to confirm. 

“I cannot,” Maze said, looking briefly irritated. “Weaver is the only member of the Guild with the necessary affinity.”

“Why is that?” the younger mage asked. 

“The Guild Seals are of his make, and he is the one responsible for contacting individual Heroes when the need arises. I can only surmise that the affinity came from such extensive use,” Maze said. “I, however, have no desire to spend my time informing one Hero or another when they are requested for a Quest or have mail from grandmother,” he finished with the aggravated tone of a man repeating an old argument. 

Jack wisely made no comment, although perhaps his grin was a bit telling. 

“Regardless,” I have something to give you,” Maze said.

“Is it another book?” Jack said jokingly.

Maze ignored him. “During your time at the Guild, I kept an eye on your old hometown. Oakvale has recovered well since the night I rescued you,” he said. “In particular, I have been looking into the fate of your family, specifically your sister.”

Jack stilled, and all expression was wiped from his face. He had seen what one group of depraved bandits had done to a girl he knew and played with. Her screams still featured in his nightmares, and he had lived in fear that his sister had suffered a similar fate ever since he started to remember details of the raid in his second year at the Guild. He didn't talk about or dwell on his home for good reason. 

“Of your mother, I found nothing, and of your sister I'm afraid I have been unable to determine her ultimate fate,” Maze said, “although I did discover she survived the raid itself, with some injuries.” The archmage watched his student carefully. When he made no response, he continued. “My information has been stale for some time now, and I thought that perhaps a fresh mind might have more luck than I.”

Jack looked his mentor in the eye. “Thank you,” he said. He didn't want to return to Oakvale, but hearing his sister might still live had him feeling almost unbearably hopeful. The hope was tempered by fear, fear that he might follow her trail only to find a grave, or scattered bones. Despite this, he knew what he wanted to do. He would make his apologies to Klessan and go wherever the path to his sister led. “Where did the trail go cold?” he asked. 

“A bloody clearing in the forest,” Maze answered after a long moment. “She was found there, and carried off some days after the raid. If the Fates were kind, it was by a hermit, or a hunter from another village.”

Jack ground his teeth. He had been safe and comfortable, settling into life at the Guild, while Theresa, his kind, loving sister was wandering through the forest bloody and lost. He didn't even want to begin to think what her life had been like these past years if it was not a hermit or hunter to rescue her, but more bandits.

“What is done is done,” Maze said quietly, easily following Jack's thoughts. “You were in no position to help her, even if you knew she still lived.”

Jack nodded once, not liking the situation any more.

“I've kept the records in my tower,” Maze said. “I can take you there now, if you like.”

“I'm making for the coast anyway,” Jack said, shrugging as he offered his arm to Maze so the man could teleport them to the Guild. “Or I was--”

Maze's hand shot out to grip his own with the speed of a cobra. He twisted Jack's arm over with surprising strength, forcing the younger Hero's palm to face up, the rune branded upon it revealed to the world. 

“Who gave this to you?” the archmage boomed. “Who?!?” 

Jack stared at Maze in shock. “No one,” he protested. 

“Do not lie to me boy,” Maze said, his tone dark. “You have no inkling of what has been done.”

“I wasn't given it by anyone,” Jack said forcefully.

Maze snarled, and for a fleeting moment Jack thought he could feel the mountainside rumbling. “You found it, then? Stumbled across it in a book and thought it a flattering tattoo?”

“What? No! I was in--” Jack remembered his promise to Kel at the last second “--a place and I came across a great smooth dome--”

“So instead of a book, you claim you tripped over a Focus Site of the Old Kingdom?” Maze shouted. “And then you did what, compressed four weeks into one and miraculously rediscovered the only safe way of binding the rune to your Will without killing yourself?”

Jack stared at Maze, taken aback by his fury. 

“Do you have any idea what you've done, fool boy?” Maze ground out. “You've bound yourself to whoever gave you that rune!”

“No one gave it to me!” Jack snapped. “I came across the dome, Focus Site, whatever it is, and a faerie wounded me. I touched the dome with blood on my hand and when I used a Will expression, something painful happened to me. When it was over, the rune was branded on my palm and on the dome,” the young Hero explained, scowling.

As Maze listened to the explanation, his expression went through a series of changes. At first it was thunderous, before changing to disbelieving, and then he paled alarmingly fast, his face pasty white. “Archon's Blood,” he whispered. “I had not believed...”

“Not believed what?” Jack asked sharply, too alarmed to be respectful. He had never seen Maze at anything less than composed. “What is the rune going to do to me?”

“Not here,” Maze said tersely. “Take my hand.”

Jack grabbed his mentor's hand and a piping whistle rose around them. The world went white, and when it cleared he found himself on the highest floor of Maze's tower in the Guild of Heroes. 

Maze gestured to a pair of armchairs and a small table by the fireplace. Jack made himself comfortable in one, sword and packed placed to the side, as the archmage rummaged within a cupboard. He retrieved a glass decanter, half full of some amber liquid, and a pair of crystal tumblers. Maze then sank into the second chair, and placed the two glasses on the table, pouring several fingers into each. He took a healthy sip of his and stoked the fireplace to life with a brief flicker of Will. 

“The Old Kingdom,” he began, “was a nation built by titans. Their arcane works are beyond anything we are capable of today. We dig in the mud and fight like savages over the last tattered remnants of their power, and all the while call ourselves 'great',” Maze said bitterly. He took another sip of his drink.

Jack sniffed at his own glass and sipped cautiously. It was not the juice distilled from exotic fruits like Maze normally served, but a fine brandy, worthy of a lord. “Like these Focus Sites?” he asked, ignoring the burn of the brandy as it went down.

“Like the Focus Sites, the Cullis Gates, the Archon's Shrine...all of them remnants of the Old Kingdom, some better understood than others.”

Jack almost questioned his mentor about the Archon's shrine, but held his tongue. He had the feeling the man wouldn't appreciate the interruption. 

“The Focus Sites were built at places of great natural energy, siphoning it off bit by bit.”

“What do you mean by natural energy?” Jack asked. “What was their purpose?”

“Natural energy is just that, the energy of the world. Ley lines, chakra points, each culture has its own term for it,” Maze said. “As to the purpose of the Focus Sites? We have not an inkling. But like children apeing their elders, we discovered one use for them.” The archmage paused, glancing at Jack's branded hand. “Have you noticed the rune having any effect on you yet?”

“I can control Will expressions easily with my right hand that I'd struggle to with my left,” Jack answered. 

“Likely anchored to the Will channels in your arm then,” Maze said, more to himself than to Jack. “And what of your wraith form?”

“I haven't noticed any changes as dramatic as my improved control, but I guess it's easier to maintain for more than a brief rush of movement.”

“So you've gained an appreciable increase in your control over your Will, and all you did was brand a rune onto your body,” Maze said, smiling humourlessly. “What do you think would happen if word got out?'

Jack grimaced, imagining the furore that would come of it. Part of being a Hero was constantly improving oneself, and the idea of a tattoo granting power...blood would be spilt over the chance to possess it. 

“You see the problem,” Maze noted. “But there is a deeper issue. There was a Hero, over a century ago now, who discovered what you discovered, on the isle of Witchwood. After some experimentation and many deaths, he even discovered how to graft these runes onto another. He became..influential, as you can imagine.”

“Experimentation?” Jack asked. “Why? Gaining the rune wasn't complicated, just painful.” He grimaced at the memory. 

“There were...compatibility issues, you might say. You should count yourself thankful that you did not encounter them,” Maze observed. 

Jack recalled the way the hobbe blood had burned when he smeared it on the Focus Site and held back a shudder. 

“So what did this Hero do? Did they take over the Guild?” he asked, interested beyond the current issue. Guild history had always interested him.

“No,” Maze said. “He tried, and Scythe killed him.”

“Scythe?” Jack asked, surprised. “Why?”

“Who knows why that skeleton does anything he does?” Maze asked with a shrug. “But he did, and the man's supporters immediately began fighting amongst themselves, splitting into factions. It seemed that the Heroes who accepted a rune brand from him also surrendered something far greater in return.”

“They could be controlled by the runes?” Jack asked with some repulsion, guessing Maze's meaning.

“Well...they could obey, or they could live as husks of their former selves, their Will burned from their bodies,” Maze said, levelling his gaze at his student. “You see now why I was concerned by the brand on your palm.”

Jack nodded, completely understanding. “What happened to the man's supporters? If Scythe didn't kill them off as well, why isn't knowledge of these runes more common?” He flicked a glance at the markings on Maze's own face.

“He didn't have to. They killed themselves off through infighting. Hero numbers were rather low for the next few years.”

“But what about the runes?” Jack asked impatiently. “Surely they weren't just forgotten.”

“Not as such,” Maze said, sipping at his brandy. “The consequences of interfering with an artifact not wholly understood. With each branding, the power behind the rune grew less and less, until the natural energy the Focus Site siphoned from was drawn dry.”

“Then how...” Jack trailed off, glancing at the runes on Maze's face once again.

“Not every discovered Focus Site was announced to the world,” Maze said ambiguously. “Some were kept secret, passed on from Master to Student without abuse. And with only one or two people drawing on the Site at a time, it does not appear to be weakening with each branding.”

Jack hesitated for a moment. “I made a promise not to tell anyone of what I found, or where it was...”

“Good,” Maze said crisply, his composure nearly completely regained from his earlier outburst. “Keep it that way, and consider keeping the rune on your palm concealed. You do not want to advertise your possession of a rune."

Jack gave the runes on Maze's face, bare for the world to see, a dry look. 

Maze snorted. “Don't look at me like that boy. Going after the head of the Heroes Guild is rather different to going after a young, unknown Hero.”

Jack took another cautious sip of his brandy, acknowledging the point. “Would it be a good idea to go back to the Focus Site and add more runes?” he asked, not particularly keen to do so.

“I would advise against it,” Maze said. “Instead, use it to reward yourself after an achievement. It is how I intended to grant you runes from my own Site, and I have found the runes to be more effective the more power you have of your own beforehand, in any case.”

Jack took a breath and nodded, agreeing with the reasoning. Maze drained the last of his drink and rose from his seat. 

“I will retrieve what information I have regarding your sister and see you off,” the archmage said. “I'll warrant you need some time to ponder what you have learned.”

Jack drained his own drink with a wince and rose as well, taking up his sword and pack. Time to ponder indeed. 

X

“Guildmaster,” Jack said respectfully. He stood in the Map Room of the Guild, the enormous vaulted room that was the hub of the Guild's relations with the people of Albion. 

“Ah, Jack,” the Guildmaster said. “How are you settling into Hero life?”

“Well enough, sir,” Jack answered. “It's a bit more exciting than I was expecting, despite everything.”

“Had a few adventures, have we lad?” the Guildmaster asked, smiling slightly.

“Duran and I might have set up camp beneath a sleeping rock troll,” Jack admitted sheepishly. “Don't tell Maze, please.”

The Guildmaster chuckled outright. “Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. The dangers of rock trolls may feature more prominently in future lessons to my Apprentices, however. I take it you managed to escape without incident?”

“Ah, not quite. It woke up in the middle of the night and nearly crushed us,” Jack said. He noticed a small group of younger Apprentices loitering nearby, eavesdropping on the conversation, and scratched his head self consciously. 

“You didn't let it, I see,” the Guildmaster said. 

“Duran just about shattered its leg and I, uh, blew it up.”

“As one does when caught sleeping beneath a rock troll,” the Guildmaster agreed seriously. “An impressive kill for a Hero just starting out, especially one as young as yourself.”

Jack shrugged, grinning at the praise.

“I will make a note on your record in the event of a Quest requiring troll slaying experience,” the Guildmaster said, before turning to the Apprentices still lurking nearby. He raised and eyebrow at them and they got the hint, scurrying along.

A well dressed merchant approached, and Jack stepped back to allow the Guildmaster to conduct his business. The merchant was directed to a room off the main chamber, where someone would be waiting to take the details of his Quest submission. 

“What brings you back to the Guild, Jack?” the Guildmaster asked. “Eager for another Quest? I received word that you and Master Duran completed your first most satisfactorily.”

Jack reflected on the satisfying weight of his money pouch, but shook his head. “I was on my way to Oxtooth Hold to meet up with Klessan, but Maze had some information for me. Where I go next depends on what I find out.”

“Then I wish you luck in your endeavour,” the Guildmaster said, inclining his head. Another supplicant to the Guild was approaching.

“Thank you sir,” Jack said, taking his leave. He was bound for the library.

X

Jack read the scroll through for the fifth time, frustration written plainly across his face. Maze had been overly charitable when he had called his information 'stale'. The most recent lead of any substance had come during Jack's first week in the Guild, eight years ago, and it was nothing more than a hunter's tale of following a child's tracks through the forest to an empty clearing. A man, large and heavy, had found her and from there nothing. Not a single appearance of a red haired girl in the following weeks in any of the villages or hamlets south of the Darkwood. Maze had noted two likely possibilities at the base of the scroll – either Theresa had been rescued by a person or group of people living somewhere in the vast forest, or had been come across by bandits or other unsavoury characters. If it was the latter, her chances of survival were slim, at best. 

His pulse quickened at the thought of bandits coming across his sister, defenceless and alone. If he ever found even a hint of truth to that possibility, he would burn the forest down around their ears and drag every bandit he could find to be bled dry on Skorm's altar. 

“That scroll isn't going to catch fire no matter how hard you glare at it, farmboy.”

 

At the teasing tone, Jack looked up to see a familiar figure. Whisper lounged against a desk near the one he had claimed in his old corner of the library, watching him with a grin. After their closeness at the impromptu graduation party, he had expected to feel more when next they met, but in the face of the scroll before him, all he could muster was apathy. 

“Whisper,” Jack said. “What are you doing here?”

The grin fell from her face, followed by a flicker of something, swiftly buried. “Picking up a Quest. Always a joy to see you too, Jack.” She folded her arms, and Jack's attention was drawn to the outfit she was wearing. 

Her Apprentice robes had been replaced by a pale blue ensemble, loose trousers and top that at first glance seemed more fitted to a night visiting the shops in Bowerstone North. Closer inspection revealed fine mail peeking out from beneath it, and joints reinforced by stiff leather. 

“Interesting outfit,” he said without thought.

“It was part of my graduation present from my brother,” Whisper said, lifting her chin challengingly. “I like it.”

“Sorry,” Jack said, grimacing slightly. “It looks good.”

“What are you reading?” Whisper asked coolly, not acknowledging his comment. “More spell research?”

Jack looked back down at the scroll before him and felt the familiar helpless rage rising. 

“Well, if it's such a secret, don't fret,” Whisper said, flicking her hair. “Guildmaster told me you were here, so I thought I'd say hello. Goodbye, farmboy.”

Jack looked up as his oldest friend turned to leave, the anger in what was usually an endearment piercing his funk. “Whisper, wait,” he said sharply. She turned, eyebrow raised expectantly, and Jack glanced between her and the scroll. “My sister might be alive,” he said finally. 

Whisper blinked in surprise. “You have a – isn't this a good thing?”

“I have no way of tracking her down or finding out for sure, the last time any sign of her was seen was eight years ago and if she is alive, there's a chance it was as a captive of bandits all this time,” Jack said flatly. 

Whisper watched her friend carefully. He had never spoken of the attack on his family, leaving herself, Klessan and Duran to piece together the details of what brought their friend to the Guild from rumours and second hand tales. “What about the rest of your family? Is there anyone else?”

“I found my father's corpse and the bandit who killed him was about to do for me when Maze rescued me,” Jack said, looking at the scroll to avoid watching Whisper. “My mother's battle axe was laying in the street and good luck taking on enough bandits to sack a village without a weapon.”

Whisper was quiet for a long moment. Her friend's reaction hadn't been the one she was hoping for upon seeing him again, but he could be forgiven for having weightier issues on his mind. “What was your sister's name?”

“Theresa,” Jack said. “Her name is Theresa.”

“You know we'll help you find her,” Whisper told him, speaking of herself, Klessan and Duran. “All you have to do is ask.”

“There is nothing to go off,” Jack said, the frustration he felt leaking into his voice. “Even if I had an army to scour Albion, I'd likely never find her.”

“There is nothing useful at all in that scroll?” Whisper asked.

“Nothing. Maze even tracked down and talked to every single forest tribe in the area at the time and got nothing.”

“..would they have told him if they did know anything?” Whisper asked tentatively.

“He's a Hero. You think they wouldn't?” Jack asked.

“Maybe. Thunder took me on a Quest with him right after we graduated and we came across some people who a Hero had taken a Quest against before. They didn't trust us at all.”

“You think they mightn't have told him what they knew because Maze was a Hero? He's not the type to take a Quest to wipe out a village.”

“The Guild leader can be pretty intimidating, Jack,” Whisper told him dryly. “Part of the reason our classmates were so jealous of you is because whenever Maze was at the Guild he would always talk to you about whatever you mysterious mage types talk about.”

“You think it would be worth talking to the groups Maze tracked down years ago?” Jack asked. 

“It can't hurt. A young man looking for his sister is bound to raise fewer eyebrows than an old man tracking an injured girl,” Whisper said practically. 

“Most of these tribes are nomadic,” Jack said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a map of Albion. He unfurled it and rolled it out over the table. “Finding them will be difficult.”

“Wait until the frost settles in, then,” Whisper said with a shrug. “Most of them will winter in the warmer south.”

“That's months away,” Jack said, frowning. 

“You might spend that long wandering the forest and not see a living soul anyway,” Whisper said. “They've known what they know, if anything, for eight years now. Another few months means little.”

Jack set his fist on the table with a heavy thud. He didn't like the idea of delaying the search for his sister at all, but he could remember hazy stories from his childhood warning of the dangers of getting lost in the southern forests, to say nothing of the Darkwood. At length, he sighed. 

“Thank you, Whisper,” he said, looking up at his friend. “I was ready to throw a fireball at the table and be done with it.” 

“Any time, Jack,” Whisper replied, before smirking. “Fireballs in the library though? The Guildmaster would not approve.”

“Probably not,” Jack said, making a face. “Remember that time Dace was mucking about, using his Will to manipulate the water from people's cups and he lost control? Guildmaster walked in just as he nearly soaked a bookshelf.”

“I remember their faces,” Whisper said, smiling. “I also remember you did it first, and dared Dace to match you.”

Jack snickered, remembering the frustration of the only other Apprentice to be gifted with talent in Will beyond the norm from their classes. The two year age gap between them hadn't helped the elder boy outdo him, and he hadn't always taken that with good grace. 

Whisper was watching him, waiting for a reply, and Jack was suddenly struck by the fact that the last time he had seen his oldest friend, he had kissed her. Involuntarily, his eyes drifted to her lips, and he felt heat rising up along his neck. He bit the inside of his cheek in a futile attempt to avoid blushing. 

Through some manner of womanly instinct or magic voodoo power, Whisper seemed to cotton onto the path his thoughts had taken immediately. She coloured as well, although her blush was not nearly as noticeable against her dark skin as it was on Jack's paler face. 

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but closed it with a click when nothing was forthcoming. Whisper smirked, and looked like she might say something teasingly, only to hesitate at the last second. 

The two were spared from their awkward adolescent dance by the thump of metal boots on stone. The noise grew to the point where Jack wondered if someone was deliberately making noise as they approached. That line of thought ended when the young Hero saw who was ducking down through one of the library entrances, clad in golden plate mail heavier than he was.

Thunder, Arena legend and one of the most powerful Heroes in the Guild, approached. Jack had to tilt his head back as the man drew close, and with each step he took, Jack could feel the vibrations in the floor. People said Thunder was a giant, but their true meaning was rarely understood until you were in his presence. 

This was not the first time Jack had been in the presence of Thunder, but it was the first time the man had been in the same room as him, or given him more than a passing glance. Indoors, he was even more imposing. The giant had visited the Guild infrequently to check in on his sister, usually during a grading or ranking.

Whisper had always been damn near impossible to beat on those occasions. 

“Whisper,” Thunder said, quietly. His voice was even, measured, but Jack was left with the impression that the man could shout down mountains if he chose to raise his voice. “Was there something you needed from up here?”

“Thunder,” Whisper said, flustered for a split second. “I was just saying hello to my friend.”

Thunder turned his gaze on Jack, eyes narrowed slightly. “Ah, you must be the farmboy. Whisper has talked about you. At length.”

“Brother!” Whisper said urgently, giving him a look. 

“You needn't be embarrassed, Whisper,” Thunder said, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Modesty is for those without the skill to back up their boasts.”

Whisper looked confused for a split second, but then became uncomfortable. “Jack is the only one who gave me trouble all through our Apprenticeships, brother.”

“But trailed behind you all the same, yes?” Thunder said, pride in his voice. 

“No-not all the time,” Whisper said, looking away. 

“Just most of the time, I see,” Thunder said, turning to Jack with a grin. “Still, I should thank you, farmboy. Guildmaster tells me your efforts to overcome my sister spurred her on to where she is today.”

“Really,” Jack said, in lieu of having anything polite to say. He glanced at Whisper, who was shaking her head—not quite in misery, but close to it. 

“Oh yes,” Thunder said. “Whisper was telling me just the other day of the rivalry you shared. It is good for a young man to have goals. Even if I think you will not be beating my sister to achieve this one!”

“Well,” Jack said, Thunder's attitude rubbing him the wrong way. “We'll see what happens next time we have a spar.”

“Good attitude, farmboy,” Thunder said, taking his words as they were said, and not as they were meant. He glanced out the library window. “Come, Whisper. It is time for us to leave.”

“Goodbye, Jack,” Whisper said with a sigh. She waited for her brother to leave first, mouthing a quick 'sorry' as she followed behind him. 

Jack gave an overly respectful bow from his seat, although his eyes were mocking. Whisper rolled her eyes in return and fluttered her fingers at him in farewell; she seemed relieved that Jack hadn't taken her brother's words to heart. 

Returning to the scroll in front of him, Jack gave it one last glance over before rolling it up decisively. Despite Thunder's words, he didn't believe Whisper had been boasting of her greater skill over him, and she had helped him greatly with deciding what he wanted to do in the search for his sister. He would go to Oxtooth Hold as he had planned and meet with Klessan, then go south before the winter and start his search for the forest tribes. He gathered his belongings and departed from the library, sparing one last thought for the conversation with Whisper.

He didn't think he particularly cared for Thunder.

X x X

Oxtooth Hold had been a frontier town once, wary of bandit attacks or raids from rival settlements. It had boasted tall palisade walls and a militia made up of hard men looking to defend their scrap of dirt and their families. 

That was years ago now, however, and today the town was a friendlier, bustling place. The palisade walls had been neglected, and even torn down in places to allow for further expansion or for a more convenient road. The militia had been replaced by the more formal Guards, kindly provided by the Mayor of Bowerstone, the iron willed Lady Grey—at a price, of course. 

The streets of the town saw a great deal of traffic each day, from Trader caravans to lone farmers bringing their produce from outlying farms on ox drawn carts, and even the occasional lone hunter or hermit on a rare visit to town to replenish what supplies couldn't be gleaned from the land. This traffic left the roads muddied and churned, the earth being softer than the hard packed dirt of Oakvale, and the town lacked a wealthy patron to pay for stone pavement such as Bowerstone had. 

Jack made his way towards the centre of town, following the crowds. The sword at his hip got a few second glances, and foot traffic weaved around him rather than the other way round. The people were busy, however, and he was not a renowned Hero, so none stopped to admire him, or draw him into conversation. 

The main square of Oxtooth Hold, such as it was, housed a bustling market, offering all manner of goods unique to the central coast of Albion. Without a clear goal in mind beyond 'find Klessan', he decided to take the opportunity to restock his supplies. He was a day or two early, anyway, and his money pouch was pleasantly heavy. Perhaps he would treat himself. Maze's advice to cover the rune on his hand echoed in his mind, and he drifted over to a stall offering leather goods. A pair of supple fingerless gloves caught his eye, and he approached the merchant working the stall, doing his best not to look overly interested. 

Twenty minutes later, Jack walked away with the fingerless gloves that had caught his eye, a new pair of boots, and a cream that the vendor swore would ensure his leather goods would last much longer than they would otherwise. He had paid fifteen silver more than he had originally intended, but had gotten a good deal in the end. Probably. 

“Jack!”

The young Hero stopped in his tracks and looked around the busy market, searching for the source of the voice. He saw no one looking in his direction, although there were some who looked around in confusion just as he did.

“Jaa~aack.”

The voice called out again, and Jack grinned. He knew that voice. He scanned the rooftops of the low buildings surrounding the marketplace and he caught sight of a figure a few shops down lounging somewhere she shouldn't be, legs dangling over the edge. 

Klessan waved madly when she saw Jack looking towards her, and he waved back. She gestured him over, and picked herself up off the edge of the building. As he approached, she headed towards the back and dropped out of sight. 

Jack spied an alley cramped next to the building Klessan had disappeared off and headed down it. It led to a narrow lane, and an overpowering stench of garbage and rotting fish. He grimaced, his nose wrinkling in distaste. His time at the Guild had spoiled him in regards to basic sanitation. He looked around. The lane was empty, with no sign of Klessan. 

There was a breath of movement behind him, and Jack made to turn, only to have something stuck into his back. 

“Your money or your life,” a gruff, rasping voice demanded. “Hands in the air!”

Jack sighed, hands remaining firmly at his side. “Hello Klessan,” he said. He turned to face her. 

Klessan pouted as she removed her finger from his back. The pout quickly lost the fight with the grin threatening to take over her entire face. She practically leapt forward, wrapping him in a hug. “It's good to see you again Jack,” she said. “You were supposed to put your hands up though.” The pout reappeared. 

“It's not yet been a month,” Jack said, rolling his eyes as he returned the hug. Klessan had always been overly affectionate. He took a moment to inspect her as they broke the hug; she was dressed in the brown trousers and white shirt all new Heroes received when they graduated from the Guild, only her trousers had been cut short at the knees and were beginning to fray. Long, curly brown hair as fastened in a messy pony tail. 

“Still the longest its been in years,” Klessan pointed out. She began to lead the way further along the cramped lane, towards a broader, busier street. “You weren't supposed to be here for another two days. You made good time.”

“Its been too long, I'm here too early, make up your mind,” Jack said, sticking his tongue out. 

Klessan nudged him roughly with her hip. “You never give Duran or Whisper this kind of cheek,” she complained good naturedly. 

“You just bring it out in me, I guess,” Jack said, rubbing his chin. 

“Arse. Probably for the best, anyway. Ma' sold everything we brought to market faster than expected, so we're heading home tomorrow. I was deciding whether to go with them and let you catch up or wait here for you when I saw you wandering through the market like a lost narwhal.”

“What's a—what made made you pick a rooftop to do your thinking?” Jack asked, switching questions at the last second. They were back on one of the main streets, threading their way through traffic. 

“Could you smell that alley? Oxtooth isn't exactly Bowerstone.”

Jack made a face, and Klessan continued. 

“Plus, my brothers were driving me batty. I don't think all of them would have survived if I'd grown up living with them.”

Mention of siblings brought Jack's own to mind, but he pushed those thoughts down.

“Little brats?” Jack asked. 

“Big brats. The younger ones aren't here,” Klessan said, before grinning. “I have to introduce you to them. Bad enough their little sister can beat them up, but a kid younger again?” She chuckled, a bit evilly. 

“I'm not a kid,” Jack said, striving to keep any petulance from his voice. 

Klessan turned on him regardless, mischief in her eyes. “Of course you're not!” she said in a gushing, cutesy voice. “You're a big bag Hero, all grown up and slaying monsters.” She ruffled his hair with more force than strictly necessary for added affect. 

Jack ducked away with a scowl, but also with mischief of his own in his eyes. He reached for Klessan's hair, summoning an incredibly weak spark of lightning to his hand. 

Klessan saw it, however, and leapt away, warding him off. “Don't you dare,” she said, eyeing the spark. Her hair had refused to lay flat for the rest of the day the last time he had gotten her with that trick. 

Jack just grinned at her, letting the lightning fade. They received a few interested looks from passerby, curious at the rough housing of two Heroes. Their lack of renown saw most interest fade quickly, however. 

“Oh! I have something awesome to show you, too,” Klessan said, their conflict forgotten. 

Jack eyed her curiously. 

“My graduation present,” Klessan said. “I'm still getting the hang of it, but once I master it, it'll be perfect.”

“You got a new weapon too then?” Jack asked. “Duran got a beast of a hammer, and Whisper got a new staff and some dress armour.”

Klessan nodded enthusiastically. “It's fantastic,” she said. “What did you get then? That very nicely made sword at your hip? Didn't figure Maze for a sword type.”

“No. Duran made me this, with his father's help. It's tradition, apparently, because I saved his life during the raid on the Guild,” Jack explained at Klessan's questioning look. “Maze gave me a journal of his writings on Will.”

“Ooh,” Klessan said, her eyes lighting up. “Bet you liked that.”

“Well, yes. Would have liked it even more if half of it wasn't a test trying to trick me up,” he grumbled. 

Klessan laughed. “Sounds like Maze,” she said. “Come on, lets pick up the pace. Our camp is just past the edge of town and my brothers are breaking it down. It's time you met them.”

Jack let Klessan pull him into a run, and they sped through the muddy streets. At least it was unlikely her brothers would irritate him as much as Thunder had. 

X

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Jack said, scowling. “Moreso, you're a fool if you truly believe that.”

Klessen's brother, Victor, her elder by five years, scowled back. “And I thought Heroes would know their own history.”

“Boys,” Klessan said, sighing as she pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“I do know my history,” Jack retorted, not intimidated by Victor's strong figure looming over him. “Which is why I can tell you Maze would kick Thunder's arse in a fight.”

“Thunder beat the Arena Gauntlet in one go,” Victor said. “Maze has only ever fought in the group events.”

“Maybe because he was busy, oh, I don't know, taking over and rebuilding the Heroes Guild itself?” Jack said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. 

“I like Briar Rose, myself,” Gabe, another of Klessan's brothers said. He was the second of two who were at Oxtooth, younger and leaner than Victor, but just as tanned. “She's very...heroic.”

“You mean you like the leather pants she wears,” Victor muttered. 

“Don't be jealous 'cause you were out on the boat when she passed through the village,” Gabe said. 

“Thunder would kick her arse,” Victor said, a little sourly. 

Gabe grinned dreamily. “Mmm...that arse in tight leather pants.”

“Gabe!” Klessan said, in a disgusted tone used by younger siblings the world over.

Gabe and Victor laughed and returned to their tasks as they packed up their camp. In the short time since Jack had met them, it seemed they found great delight in riling their little sister up. 

Klessan glared at them, hands on her hips. “Is Ma about?” she asked. 

Victor shook his head. “Went back to market to see what you were doing and pick up a few last things. Should be back soon.”

Klessan nodded. “Where's my pack, then?”

“Already on the wagon,” Gabe said. “You going to help us break down camp?”

“What help could a little lady like myself offer two big strapping lads like yourselves?” Klessan asked innocently. “Come on Jack,” she said, leading him away. “I want to show you already.”

They headed towards a wagon, half loaded with various goods wrapped in canvas. Two large draft horses hitched to it were grazing lightly. 

Klessan jumped up on the wagon and found her pack, hefting the bulky bag upright and undoing the straps fastening it closed. “Quorra had it made for me special,” she said, naming her sponsor. She pulled a coil of something from the pack and shook it out. “What do you think?” she asked proudly. 

A whip of remarkable workmanship hung from Klessan's hand. The stock was made of white leather, the lash of it from brown. A glint of something caught Jack's eye, and he realised that some manner of metal had been woven through the weapon. 

“Wow,” Jack said. “That's some weapon.”

“I know! And here, look at this--” Klessan coiled the whip up and showed him the very end of the whip, “--isn't that wicked?”

Jack examined the proffered tip. Instead of terminating in a final thin piece of leather, the metal wire that was woven through the rest of the whip continued on its own, giving the weapon a deadly sharp bite. 

Jack gave a low whistle. “Nasty.”

“I know!” Klessan said, beaming. “I could put a hobbes eye out at ten paces with this. Or cut its throat.”

“What is it made of?” Jack asked, running his hand along the leather. 

“Balverine,” Klessan revealed. “And the stock comes from a White Balverine.” She was clearly thrilled. 

“That's some weapon,” Jack repeated himself, and Klessan beamed again. She was clearly smitten with her new toy. “Have you had much chance to practise with it yet?”

“A little,” Klessan said. She looked around, searching for a good target. The clearing was empty save for the half packed remains of Klessan's family's camp, and she gestured at a tree a short distance away. “See that small branch splitting off below the main one about halfway up?”

Jack nodded, gauging the distance. It would have to be on the very edge of the whip's reach. 

A crack like bottled thunder let loose, breaking the quietness. The branch Klessan had pointed out was cut messily from the tree. It fell to the ground, and Jack saw that the force of the blow had shattered the branch, leaving it held together by threads of bark. 

“Avo take me,” Jack said appreciatively. “I'm almost afraid to see what it would do to something living.”

“I'm not,” Klessan said with a smirk. “I'm hoping something is stupid enough to attack our caravan on the way home.”

“Caravan?” Jack asked. He glanced at the single wagon Klessan's brothers were loading. 

“We're joining a Trader party,” Klessan explained. “Usually you have to pay for the privilege, but they agreed to let us join free of charge if I help defend it.”

“Are they expecting trouble?” 

Klessan made a see-sawing motion with one hand. “Not exactly, but a smaller convoy, not a Trader one, disappeared a month or two back, apparently. They're the first to go through this path since then and they're a bit nervous.”

Jack chewed his lip, absorbing the information. “Good thing they'll have two Heroes along for the ride then, huh?”

Klessan favoured Jack with a grin, but sighed suddenly, slouching. “Don't get your hopes up,” she said. “It'll likely be the safest journey they've ever had. I must be having the most boring start to a Hero career ever.”

“Don't worry,” Jack said, 'reassuring' his friend. “I'm sure there's an army of bandits out there waiting for us.”

“You think?” Klessan asked, brightening.

Jack rolled his eyes at her, and she stuck out her tongue in response. 

Klessan's gaze drifted over Jack's shoulder, towards the path leading back to Oxtooth Hold proper, and she waved. Jack turned to see who had caught her eye, and spied an older woman making her way down the path, a heavy basket carried easily on one hip. 

“Ma!” Klessan shouted in greeting as the woman neared. The call caught Victor and Gabe's attention as well, and they waved before returning to their tasks. 

“Kess,” the woman greeted fondly. “I see you've found your friend.” She spoke with a coastal accent, clipping her vowels and rising in tone at the end of each statement. Her face was lined and weathered from a lifetime of work under the sun, her tanned skin proof of it. Her brown hair was worn in much the same style as Klessan's. 

“Jack, this is Ma,” Klessan said. “Ma, this is Jack. He kept me from tearing books apart in frustration at the Guild, so be nice.”

'Ma' gave Jack a critical once over, a glint in her eyes. She gave a nod, apparently approving of what she saw. “Don't go getting my daughter pregnant, laddie,” she ordered. “She's far too young for it just yet.”

“Ma!” Klessan said, scandalised. “I'm eighteen summers. Jack's only sixteen!”

Jack shut his jaw with a clack from where it had fallen at 'Ma's' statement. His face was tinged pink in embarrassment. “Only sixteen?” he demanded, brain to mouth filter clearly malfunctioning. “That's your first thought?”

Ma cackled. “I was sixteen when your father tricked me into marrying him, and Victor came along only a year later!”

“Yes Jack, only sixteen” Klessan said, glaring at her mother without real irritation. She turned a sly smile on him a moment later. “Don't be too devastated. You can still admire me from afar.”

Jack opened his mouth to deny anything of the sort, but stopped himself, mouth closing with a click. Any denial he made would be twisted by Klessan into some manner of insult, and she would be merciless in her counter attack until she somehow forced him into admitting his 'admiration'. He stared evenly at his friend, letting her know he wasn't going to play her game.

Klessan poked her tongue out at him, and he narrowed his eyes. Before she could react, Jack's hand blurred out to grab a fistful of her hair, and single spark dancing between his fingers.

Klessan yelped as the slight current coursed through her. Her hair, once loose and only slightly curly, now stood on end, frizzing uncontrollably. 

“River Lady trick you, you-you-Jack!” Klessan said, glaring at him with an expression of purest loathing.

Jack smiled innocently at his friend, hands held as if to say, 'Who, me?'

Ma chuckled at their antics. “Don't take the Lady's name lightly, dear. She'd like as not be laughing at you now in any case.”

“But Ma, my hair!” Klessan said, almost wailing.

Jack snorted, fighting back his own laughter. Messing with her hair was the one thing sure to get Klessan riled up. 

“Oh, pish. I have a fish oil soap that will set you right.”

“Really?” Klessan asked, brightening.

“Really. I'll even let you use it if you put that whip away and help your brothers break camp.”

Klessan gave a great put upon sigh. “Fine,” she said, before turning on Jack. “Minion! You're helping,” she told him imperiously. She stowed her whip and approached her brothers, not waiting to see if he would follow. 

Jack rolled his eyes and followed to help. It was only polite.

Besides, he figured Klessan's brothers would have something to say about her hair.

X

It was early afternoon when they linked up with the Trader convoy they would be travelling with. It was a motley assortment of wagons and carts of varying fanciness; there were eleven total. Most were simple, like the wagon driven by Klessan's family, but some had elaborate cloth coverings stitched with colourful designs. Those vehicles likely belonged to the Traders organising the convoy. 

It was a common practice for Traders of Albion to organise such convoys. There was safety in numbers, after all, and the fee Traders habitually charged those wishing to join them helped them shoulder the cost they incurred in hiring guards and mercenaries to defend themselves.

Ma drove the wagon, Gabe seated at her side with an unloaded crossbow resting against his leg. Klessan and Victor walked at either side of the wagon, also armed. A simple sword hung at Victor's waist; Klessan had looped her whip crossways around her torso and a fine oak bow was secured on her back, along with a quiver. Jack walked near his friend, with the group but separate. His special pack was slung over one shoulder, and his learning blade was at his hip. 

“Ahoy there,” a goateed man wearing a Traders' feather pinned to his shirt greeted them. “You must be the family with the Hero my partner was nattering on about.”

“Klessan,” the woman introduced herself. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to have you,” the Trader said, speaking quickly but unhurriedly. “Name's Bob. Deal is free passage with our caravan in return for your help defending it should the need arise. Savvy?”

“Sounds right,” Klessan said with a glance to her mother.

Bob took Klessan's hand and shook it briefly. “And done. Who's your friend here?” he asked, nodding to Jack.

“I'm a friend of Klessan's,” Jack said, “and also a Hero.”

“You'll be joining my caravan too, ey?” Bob asked.

Jack could see the idea of a second Hero joining the caravan appealed to the Trader, and a thought occurred to him. He shrugged. “I'm following the same path,” he said. “Should the need arise, I might even help defend it with the right incentive.”

“What'd you have in mind?” Bob asked, stroking his beard.

“Five gold pieces if there's trouble,” Jack offered. “Otherwise, no charge.”

“Hmm. What's your name?” the Trader asked.

“Jack.”

“Never heard of ye. Still, a good deal is a good deal,” Bob said with a shrug. He stepped forward and shook Jack's hand. His grip was firm, and Jack returned the shake with equal intensity. “Welcome to me caravan. Get yourselves sorted as ye please. We're moving out in ten.”


	6. Balverine

There was no trouble on the first day, or the second, or the third. The greatest annoyance was the slow pace, but Jack chided himself for expecting otherwise. Travelling on foot at the swift and steady pace comfortable for a Hero had spoiled him. 

There was some initial interest from the other members of the convoy towards the two Heroes with them, but it mostly subsided when it was revealed they had yet to even earn a Name. Neither Jack or Klessan made mentioned of the fact they had been graduated ahead of their classmates.

They were not the only defenders of the convoy, either. A pair of red uniformed guards, Sergeants, commanded a half dozen sell swords of average quality, and they were assigned evenly along the wagons and carts. Jack and Klessan roamed the length of it, separately. The memory of how Birch and Rosie had almost made off with the gold he was to be protecting while he socialised on his first Quest had stuck with him. 

It was late in the fourth day that trouble made itself known. The wheel of one of the Traders' wagons slipped into a deep rut on the road, and its axle shattered. Progress came to a halt, and they were stuck there as repairs were made. The sun was beginning to cast an orange hue over the land by the time they were ready to move again, and they were still some distance from the closest defensible rest spot. They resumed their journey at a faster pace than before, but they would still not reach camp before nightfall. 

Jack continued to make his rounds on the travelling convoy, one hand on his sword. The rapidly descending darkness was putting him ill at ease for no reason he could discern, despite the light provided by the full moon hanging low in the sky. His Will rose to flow just beneath the surface, and his weapon pulsed in time with it, like a living extension of himself. 

His path crossed with Klessan at the middle of the convoy, and they paused to talk. 

“You look bothered,” Klessan said, her eyes flicking over the tense set of his shoulders and the hand on his sword. “Something up?”

Jack shrugged, but shook his head. “Just a feeling.”

Klessan eyed him and frowned slightly, remembering the raid on the Guild, and the way Jack had flinched and turned in the instant before the wall had been blown apart. She loosened her whip from its loop around her torso. “I'll keep an eye out,” she said, resuming her walk along the convoy. 

Jack gave her a distracted nod as they parted, trying to pin down the source of his edginess. The Guards and sell swords noticed the increased watchfulness of the Heroes and grew more alert themselves, perhaps believing the pair to have noticed something they had missed. 

In the end, it saved their lives. 

The caravan was passing through a tight copse of trees, the road narrowing as the canopy closed above them. All progress halted as a bloodcurdling howl pierced the night, issuing from the right of the path. No mere animal could produce a noise such as that, and all eyes snapped towards it, seeking in vain to spy whatever foul creature lurked in the darkness.

All eyes save Jack's. Instinct demanded he look up, and he did so, just in time to see a dark shape descending from the trees above him. He slipped into his wraith form without conscious thought, his insubstantial body casting an eery blue light on his surroundings. A misshapen claw, wickedly sharp, passed through his head and torso in a blow that would have cleaved him in twain had he reacted a half second slower. 

A single malevolent, bestial eye looked out from a humanoid, yet undeniably canine head. Base rage clouded its features, but with a flicker of surprise at his continued existence. A snarl, and another swipe that would have strewn his guts across a nearby wagon, impossibly fast. 

Jack was suddenly intimately aware that had he been a normal person or a less talented Hero, he would have been dead twice over in less than five seconds. Anger frothed forth alongside his Will, and he responded. He screamed his defiance, and a bolt of lightning pushed back the darkness. It connected squarely with his attacker's chest, blasting the creature from its feet and throwing it back towards the trees. The smoking corpse collided with a tree with enough force to crack the trunk down the middle. 

There was a split second of complete and utter silence as even the trees seemed to still. Then, a chorus of eery, unearthly howls rose around them, sending the horse and oxen hitched to the carts into a panic. 

“Balverines!”

Chaos reigned immediately. Merchants dashed for the transient safety of their wagons as the guard Sergeants and sell swords struggled to organise themselves amidst the panic. Dark shapes flitted through the trees, taunting and snarly. Klessan leapt atop her family's wagon, arrow nocked to her bow. She tracked a target and fired; a pained yelp rewarded her. 

A pair of balverines rushed a weak spot in the caravan, seeking to overwhelm the lone sell sword defending the family taking refuge beneath their cart. The mercenary defended desperately, knowing he was seconds from a messy death and nearly suffocating under the rank breath of the beasts he fought. His sword was caught in a toughly leathered claw of one and yanked from his grasp, while the other moved in for the kill, slavering jaws open wide—and then lightning cracked and boomed, reducing the beast to a smoking corpse. There was a flash of blue light, and a blade was suddenly sticking out of the second creature's gut. The blade was yanked free and the beast dropped, spine severed, revealing one of the young Heroes to the sell sword's sight. The mercenary gave the Hero a thankful grin, before he scrambled to retrieve his sword, and received a nod in return. 

There was no way to tell how many beasts assailed them. The balverines would attack and then bound away, harrying the defenders from all sides. Some were climbing through the treetops like twisted, demented monkeys, while others raced up and down the convoy, distracting the defenders from their fellows. 

Balverines were one of the great menaces of Albion, a constant threat of becoming a true blight on its people. They were the reason only Heroes and fools travelled alone through the Darkwood, and had in the past overrun entire villages and hamlets.

The great balverine hunter, Scarlet Robe, had said that a balverine was driven by two urges—to feed, and to infect. In some ways, an unfortunate bitten by a balverine was more dangerous before they turned into one of the beasts themselves, for the change was not merely physical. The curse twisted their minds first, burying civilised thoughts and driving base instinct to the fore. By the time a victim had changed enough to be noticed by the wary, they had already been carriers of the curse for weeks, fully capable of infecting others—by accident or design. The physical change, when it finally occurred, was nearly an afterthought; the change was swift and vicious, mutating a human into a twisted mockery of a creature, neither human nor wolf. 

Balverines and those known to be carrying their curse were to be hunted down and killed as swiftly as possible, lest they grow into their full strength and mature into the dreaded White Balverine. Only Heroes relished fighting those alpha beasts, and legend said that Scarlet Robe herself had fallen putting down thirteen of them. 

There were no White Balverines here today, however, only fresh balverines. Some were very fresh indeed, Jack noted as he electrocuted one of the beasts. A memory of Klessan mentioning a vanished merchant caravan on this road a month prior rose in his mind. He would bet with grim certainty that he knew what had become of them. 

Three balverine descended on Jack, working together to take down the biggest threat. The largest of the three attacked him in a flurry of claws and fangs, while the other two darted around behind him, seeking to tear out his hamstrings. Their attacks were in vain as Jack dropped into his wraith form once more, ignoring the blows that would have rent him limb from limb. He ignored the strain he could feel building behind his eyes each time he used the expression and swept through his foes, reforming between them and the wagons. He concentrated, and a pulse of pure force emanated from his person, knocking the three balverine arse over snout and several feet back. A ball of red flame was conjured in one hand and he threw it at them, turning away as it connected and exploded with a wave of heat. The balverine didn't have time to squeal as they died. 

Gabe and Victor were guarding one side of their wagon with axe and sword, while Ma wielded a crossbow with fair skill above them. Klessan had been drawn away by a rush further along the convoy, leaving her family to fend off a pair of balverine. Lightning crackled in Jack's palm, and then the balverine were jerking and spasming as his Will arced between them. Gabe buried his hatchet in the skull of one while Victor sliced open the throat of the other. 

They made to thank Jack, but his attention was already focused on his next target, exhilaration and adrenaline making his blood and Will sing. Thiswas why he dreamt of becoming a Hero as a child, this was the path he would follow. He would defend those who couldn't defend themselves, and shoot lightning at the fools who would menace them. 

Another balverine ran at him and he cut it down with pure swordplay, twisting around its claws and seeking its heart with his blade. The weapon seemed to snarl as it cut through the air, but surely that was a flight of fancy. He pulled his sword free and the balverine collapsed. It was less canine than most, the claws on its hands more like sharpened nails than the talons of its fellows. 

An arrow whizzed past his ear, burying itself in the eye of of a beast that had been sneaking up behind him. 

Jack sent an unamused stare at Klessan, feeling at his ear. His fingers came away lightly daubed with blood. 

“There was a balverine behind you,” Klessan said helpfully, smirking at him. She returned her bow to her back in favour of her whip.

“...I knew it was there,” Jack said, sheathing his blade. He shook his hands out. 

“Running low on magic juice yet?” Klessan asked, as they moved towards another knot of fighting. 

Jack conjured a whip of fire with a grin, not bothering to correct her phrasing. “Not on your life!”

The two guard Sergeants, both solid, burly men, were pinned against the side of the largest Trader wagon by a knot of balverines. The wielded their longswords defensively, successfully keeping their attackers at bay, but while they were occupied, the less skilled sell swords were leaderless and in danger of being overrun.

Jack and Klessan fell upon the beasts attacking the Red Guards, lashing out with their whips. Klessan attacked with the razor precision her friends admired her for, slashing tendons and hamstrings with the metal tip of her whip. Jack employed less finesse, laying into them with a gutso. It was less effecting at doing lasting damage, however, and served only to gain their attention.

One of the balverines turned and charged the Heroes, ignoring its burning fur. Jack let his flaming whip dissipate and met the beast with a charge of his own. He feinted to one side, and his foe committed to meet the attack, only to find Jack's blade sliding up between its ribs to pierce its heart. A rush of hot, black blood spilled as the Hero ripped his blade free, moving on to the next one. Klessan's whip snaked over his shoulder to score a balverine's face to the bone, leaving it howling in agony.

A horrid scream drowned out the balverine, drawing Jack's eye. Further down the convoy, a pair of sell swords had been beset on all sides by a number of balverines. One of the mercenaries had been grasped hand, foot, and torso by three of the beasts—and they tore him apart in a shower of gore. His scream stopped with shocking suddenness, and then the beasts were swarming the second sell sword, burying him under their mass. 

Jack's gaze met Klessan's in the heat of the fight and she nodded minutely. In the next instant his form glowed blue, and then he was at the overcome sell sword's side, balverines everywhere. The two men made eye contact for a split second, and Jack realised it was the same mercenary he had saved not minutes before. 

The Hero grasped his blade as he drew on his Will, and time slowed. He went deeper into the expression than he ever had before, to the point that the balverines around him hardly seemed to be moving at all. Slowly, implacably, his blade reached out to touch the throat of the foe nearest to him. Blood leaked from the wound like molasses, and Jack felt like he was moving through it, thick and heavy. The world was slowed—but so was he.

He watched as the jaws of another beast fastened around the sell sword's shoulder, tearing flesh and gripping tight. Jack and his blade moved as one, his Will flowing from the rune on his palm to the rune on its hilt. He struck with smooth purpose, and the balverine's head was severed from its neck. Time resumed its normal march, and the surviving beasts were suddenly confronted by two of their own dead and another prey-creature in their midst. They moved to tear the Hero limb from limb, but Jack didn't give them the chance. 

He blade spun, still pulsing with his Will, and this time he knew for a fact it snarled as it cut. The balverines fell, deep wounds marking their dying bodies. A warm liquid trickled over his lip, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. It came away smeared red. 

Jack ignored the blood trailing from his nose and turned back to the fight he had left Klessan in, just in time to see her dispatch the second to last balverine. The tail of her whip was curled around its neck, and she heaved on it, dragging the beast in closer. She pulled a long dagger from her belt and buried it in its eye, twisting it cruelly. Yanking it free, she uncurled her whip from its neck and turned to the last balverine, where it still tangled with the Red Guards.

As if sensing its impending death, the creature abruptly turned and fled, high tailing it towards the tree line. The Red Guards made to pursue, but were stopped by a quick word from Klessan. She leapt upon a nearby wagon, bow in hand, and strung an arrow.

The balverines were all dead or fleeing, and Jack sheathed his sword, concentrating on cutting the steady current of Will flowing into it. His vision blurred slightly, and tiny tremors wracked his frame as if his body had decided to remind him how much Will he had used all at once. He succeeded in clamping down on the connection, sluggishly trying to consider what it meant that his Will continued to flow to it even after physical contact was lost. He pushed it to the back of his mind; it could wait until he was in better shape. 

There was someone at his side watching Klessan line up her shot, and the Hero blinked, having completely missed his approach. It was the sell sword he had rescued, twice. The man was pale, clutching at the messy bite wound on his shoulder. Something about the wound tugged at Jack's mind, but nothing concrete surfaced. They exchanged a nod, and then went back to watching Klessan. 

She looked every inch the Hero as she stood atop the wagon, bow drawn, tracking her target, hair shifting in the night breeze. The moon left her features half in shadow, one eye shrouded in darkness, the other intent on her prey. 

Klessan let out a breath, and a beat later, her arrow. It whistled through the air, and Jack was aware that every pair of eyes in the convoy not still in hiding were fixed on it.

The arrow flew true, striking the fleeing balverine at the base of its skull just as it reached the treeline. A ragged cheer rose in the night, merchants, Traders and fighters alike celebrating their survival. 

Klessan lay her bow down on the wagon and thrust her arms up in victory. “Yes! Who's fucking awesome? We're fucking awesome! Someone bring me that things' head, it's going on my wa—oof.”

The balverine had come from out of nowhere, springing from the darkness. It tackled Klessan like a spear, and her body arced as they flew through the air. They disappeared over the far side of the wagon, out of sight.

Some shouted in dismay, but Jack roared his outrage, his will to fight and kill rekindled. He dragged the remains of his Will back to the surface and made to drop back into his wraith form—only to stumble and fall as his Will failed him. His vision turned grey around the edged, and blood an afresh from his nose, and his eyes. He ignored the blood and dragged his sword from its sheath, regaining his balance to race drunkenly around the wagon. He could hear the struggle between his friend and the balverine; snarling, grunting, pained whelps. 

After an eternity, he rounded the wagon and saw Klessan pinned beneath the beast. He made ready to lunge forward and impale it, only to pause as he realised what he was seeing. The balverine lay atop Klessan, but it was facing up, its claws scrabbling at its throat—at the balverine leather whip Klessan was garroting it with. There was blood on her face, and her bared teeth stood out in the darkness.

The balverine's struggled began to slow, and Jack stood back, leaving Klessan to take her victory. The beast stilled at last, and Klessan lifted it off herself, sliding out from under it. She unwound her whip from its neck and dragged her dagger across its throat, messily ensuring it was dead. 

“That head, I want that one,” Klessan said, eyes closed, taking great gulps of air as she knelt on the ground. “It's going on my wall.” She made no move to get up.

Jack just laughed, relieved that Klessan was mostly uninjured. The blood on her face issued from a cut that stretched from the corner of her right eye to the corner of her mouth, and without a skilled healer like Duran present, would earn her a wicked scar. 

There was movement behind him, and Jack turned to see Gabe and Victor rush around the wagon. They wore their relief openly, relieved to see Klessan alive and well, but they blanched when they looked to Jack and saw the blood trails leaking from his eyes and nose. 

“Klessan wants the damn thing's head,” he told them, starting to sway. “Someone be a gentleman and decapitate it?” he asked woozily. Then he collapsed, out of it before he hit the ground.

X

Jack came to slowly; the first sensation he could feel was that of his Will thrumming through his veins like waves lapping at an island shore. After a moment, the feeling subsided, as if his Will had just been letting him know it was recovered. 

He was moving, or rather, being moved, as he could feel the rocking and jostling of a wagon on the road beneath him. He lay on a mattress and was covered by a light sheet. There was a hint of a breeze on his face, and it was bright out, although he was shaded from the sun. Someone was talking within earshot, and given that his eyelids weren't listening when he told them to open, he attempted to listen in.

“..I checked on him a few minutes ago, and he was still sleeping. It's only mid morning, so I'm not worried yet. Jack was always a tough one.”

There was a pause, and Jack realised that the person speaking was Klessan. 

“you worry too much, Duran. The bleeding stopped pretty quickly, and he had been throwing lightning around like candy, as well as using his glowy assassin form of death every other moment. His magic will be fine, I don't know why you're so worried about it. Did something happen while the pair of you were up in the mountains?”

There was another brief pause.

“I know that's not what the thing is called you big oaf, but he's not awake to hear me, is he? And if you didn't want to tell me, just say so.”

Another pause.

“Mmhmm. Uh huh. Bullshit! Anyway. That's some sword you made for him. Cleanest cuts I've ever seen. Went through bone like nothing. And did you know he has a bag that's bigger on the inside? There's a faerie skull in it.”

Jack began to focus on trying to open his sleep-gummed eyes.

“Of course I looked through his stuff! I ran out of bandages and I was hoping he had some. Plus I wanted to know how he was travelling around Albion without any gear.”

Jack managed to open one eye, and started to work on the other. 

“I'll talk to you later Dee, someone whose life I saved last night is looking upset that I've stopped doing my rounds, so I'm going to check on Jack again. Good luck with those Foxy people!”

A moment later, Klessan stuck her head through the flaps covering the wagon Jack lay in. She was greeted by a bleary stare, and she smiled brightly when she saw he was awake. 

“Morning, sunshine! How are you feeling?” Klessan asked, far too cheerfully in Jack's opinion.

“Hrnghk.”

“Well, you were bleeding from your eyes and your nose last night,” she told him, as if he'd said something remotely intelligible. 

“Hunghky,” Jack said, trying to force his vocal cords to work. 

“I blasted you with a healing expression as best I could and forced one of your Will fortifying potions down your throat,” Klessan said, clambering into the wagon fully and sitting near his feet. “you know, I thought for aaages that those things were an easy way of refilling your Will reserves.”

“Nnn suchthing.”

“Well, I know that now,” the brunette said, rolling her eyes. “But I never chewed through my Will to the point of needing a stop gap to avoid the risk of death,” she said, staring at him pointedly. “And from what Duran said, you're beginning to make a habit of it.”

“Hungry. Food,” Jack said, ignoring her perfectly valid concern. 

“Sheesh. Already demanding,” Klessan said, smiling. “I'll see if there's any breakfast left over.” She began to climb out of the wagon, before pausing and looking back. “I'm glad you're all right, Jack,” she said quietly. 

Jack managed a small grin, and freed an arm from the sheets to give her a feeble thumbs up. Klessan rolled her eyes at him again and disappeared from sight. 

A short while later, food arrived, borne by a young dark haired girl who looked to be Jack's junior. She blushed when she met his eyes upon climbing into the wagon, and her lips quirked in amusement when his stomach rumbled on smelling the cooked ham and cheese she carried on a wooden tray.

Jack propped himself up against the side of the wagon with some effort and gestured impatiently for the food. It smelled mouthwatering, hungry as he was. He gave a brusque thanks as the girl handed it over. Their fingers brushed, and the girl yanked her hands back as if burned, but Jack was too intent on his meal to notice or care. He practically inhaled it, washing it down with water from a tall wooden cup.

“Is there more?” Jack asked of the girl.

“I'll check, sir Hero,” the girl said, swallowing nervously, before disappearing through the wagon cover flaps, tray and cup in hand. 

As she left, Jack caught a glimpse of outside. Blue skies and open fields peeked in, a vivid contrast to the dark woods and battle of the previous night. More surprising was the trio of children craning their necks to catch a glimpse inside the wagon—of him. The flaps fell closed and he heard the girl shooing them away.

He was on the verge of falling asleep again when the girl returned scant minutes later, although it felt like much longe.r He set about eating at a more measure pace this time; slowly enough to actually taste what he ate, anyway.

More awake now, and his hunger sated, the covered wagon started to feel stifling. A headache was brewing inside his skull, and the looks the girl was shooting him from under her lashes weren't helping matters. He kicked the sheets off awkwardly and rose to his knees only for a sudden unsteadiness came over him; he swayed.

The girl, whose names he still had not learned, steadied him with a hand against his bare chest. A distant part of his brain noted that he should probably be more interested in the well endowed young woman making no secret of her interest in him. Like the adulation he received for a successful Quest, however, he found the fantasy to be more than the reality.

But that was only a distant part of his mind. He was more preoccupied with the pounding headache at the front of his brain, as he crawled towards the exit and near on tumbled out of the wagon. A gentle breeze greeted him; cool relief against his bare torso after the stuffy wagon.

The convoy was still moving, and he stepped to the side of the trail they followed, allowing the other carts and wagons to pass him by. He was barefoot and unarmed, but his Will was recovered, and that was all he needed. 

The girl was hovering anxiously, and the merchants and families driving the wagons or walking alongside them looked over to him curiously, but Jack's focus was elsewhere. White light suffused his hands, and he held them to his temples. What Duran called his 'clumsy, brute force, cheat of a healing expression' took effect, easing the pressure behind his eyes. 

“Jack, you great moose,” Klessan said, making her presence known with a bump against his shoulder. “I thought I told you to take it easy on the magic.”

“No, you didn't,” Jack said, shaking his head. He felt much better already.

“Oh,” Klessan said, blinking. “Well, you should. Duran said so. Healer's orders.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I'm fine. Why'd you bother talking to Duran?” And why did Duran think Will use was a bad idea for him?

Klessan rubbed her chin, mock thoughtful. “Offhand, I'd say it was the way you had blood streaming from your eyes and nose.”

A queasy look came over Jack's face. “Really,” he said, more a statement than a question.

“You don't remember?” Klessan asked.

“I remember throwing a lot of Will around,” Jack said. They began to keep pace with the convoy, and Klessan jerked her head at the girl who still hovered nearby. She hesitated for a moment, then dashed off.

“It was a little badass, actually,” Klessan said. “According to the merchants' gossip, anyway. I thought it was an alright effort.” She affected a disinterested look, examining a nail.

Jack smiled at his friend. “You weren't so bad yourself, or so I hear.”

Klessan shrugged, falsely modest. “I don't know to boast, but I may have kicked enormous amounts of balverine arse.” Then she crinkled her nose in distaste. “Ugh. I love the smell of horse shit in the morning.”

Jack frowned, taking in a breath. “I can't smell anything,” he said.

“You can't smell that at all?” Klessan asked, her expression concerned.

“Well, I was bleeding from my nose last night,” Jack said, shrugging as if unconcerned.

“That's a little bit serious, Jack. You might have had a brain bleed.”

“Brain bleed?” Jack asked.

“it happened to my cousin when I was young. He fell on the rocks and hit his head; when he woke up he had to learn how to speak again. The medicine woman said it was a brain bleed,” Klessan explained, chewing on her lip.

“I didn't take any head wounds last night,” Jack said. “The balverines didn't even lay a claw on me, actually.”

“Someone made you bleed,” Klessan pointed out.

“It wouldn't have been—ah,” Jack said, breaking off as a thought occurred to him.

Klessan watched her friend as he thought fingers twitching subconsciously and a faraway look in his eyes. They had all held their areas of superiority at the Guild, and Jack's was incontestably Will. There was a reason for that. 

“I need to talk to Maze,” Jack muttered a moment later. “Or skip ahead in his book.”

Klessan cleared her throat, looking meaningfully at Jack.

“What? Oh,” Jack said, blinking. “I think I know what caused the bleeding. I hope, anyway.”

“You think it was something you did, then?” Klessan asked, as they passed the wagon Jack had recovered in.

“With luck, otherwise I've no idea. But I'm pretty sure my expression of slowed perception reacted badly with my wraith expression,” Jack explained. He offered a nod to Trader Bob as the man managed his team of horses and received one in return.

“That can happen?” Klessan asked, both eyebrows raised.

“Apparently. It's not something Apprentices are warned about, so it can't be all that common.”

“Or maybe they don't expect fresh Heroes to be throwing around as much Will as you are,” Klessan said dryly. 

“Either way, I'll have to talk to Maze,” Jack said, shrugging. “What happened to all my gear?”

“I picked through it for the best stuff and dumped the rest,” Klessan told him, straight faced.

Jack poked his tongue out at her, and she flicked his ear in response.

“It's all in Ma's wagon,” Klessan said, more seriously, retying the messy ponytail her hair was in as she spoke. “Your shirt, gloves, boots and bracers I put into that magic pouch of yours, but your sword wouldn't fit in no matter how much I took out. Gabe is keeping an eye on it; I think they're closer to the front of the convoy.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, stretching a kink out of his back. He was quiet for a moment, looking out over the rolling fields and wind swept waves of tall grass they travelled through. “That last balverine put the terror of Skorm in me,” he said at length.

Klessan let out an explosive breath. “It scared the piss out of me too! I've been laughing if off with anyone who asks, but blooded Avo, I was not expecting it,” she said.

“Good story for the Bards though,” Jack said, grinning. “Garroting a gorram balverine. Did you end up getting its head?”

“That's true!” Klessan said, face brightening. “And yeah, Gabe hacked it off for me. Someone found the one you decapitated and kept it, too. The Traders said they'd have a taxidermist take care of them for us.”

Jack grinned, thinking of the trophies he was already accumulating—the fancy throwing dagger, the shards of troll eye, the faerie skull, and now the balverine head. Soon, he would have to find somewhere to put his growing collection of trophies. Then a less welcome thought occurred to him, and he frowned. “What happened to the sell sword I saved? He and another fellow were swarmed.”

Klessan tilted her head, looking at him sideways. “Younger man? Black hair, leather armour?”

“Think so. Sounds right,” Jack said.

“He was bitten, Jack. You cut the beasts head off as it teeth were buried in his shoulder.”

Jack fell silent, remembering the scant few seconds of contact he had had with the man. He had seemed like a decent fellow. “What was his name?”

“Scarborough, I think.”

There was a heavy pause.

“Fucking balverines.”

“Yeah,” Klessan said. There wasn't much more you could say. “He went with the wagon that turned back for Oxtooth Hold. Said he had family there.”

“He's still alive then?” Jack asked intently.

“A balverine's bite has no cure, Jack,” Klessan said. She watched him with sharp eyes, knowing exactly what path his thoughts were taking. “Heroes have searched and failed before.”

“None of those Heroes were me, were they?” Jack said with uncharacteristic heat and pride. 

“Even if you started searching for a cure at this very moment, what do you think your chances are of succeeding in the next week or three before he succumbs to the curse?” Klessan asked. She stopped in her tracks, forcing Jack to stop and face her.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “I might,” he said. “Stranger things have happened.”

“You can't hold yourself responsible for this,” Klessan said, looking very much like she wanted to throw her hands up in the air.

“Who said I was?” Jack said, walking with the convoy once more.

“I do,” Klessan said, stepping quickly to catch up. “And I'm older, so listen to my sagely wisdom.”

“Yes elder,” Jack said, mockingly.

Klessan flicked him on the ear. “You realise that this entire caravan is alive thanks to us? The Guards and sell swords alone would never have been enough to drive the balverines off.”

“They might have.”

“Ugh, you're acting like one of my brothers,” Klessan said. “You became a Hero to protect people, right? Thanks to us, not a single person who couldn't defend themselves was hurt last night. If you're gonna beat yourself up over every person who gets hurt working with you, your Hero career will be a long and shitty one.”

The two Heroes were silent for a time after Klessan's words. It was rare for her to get worked up in such a manner, and so Jack turned her words over carefully.

They had nearly reached the head of the convoy when Jack spoke again. “Just so you know, speaking sense this time doesn't make you wise.”

Klessan smiled, pleased that she had managed to talk sense into her friend. “I'm pretty sure it does,” she said. “And I'm going to tell Duran and Whisper about how wise I must be for you to listen to me next time I see them.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that your Hero Name should Stubborn Jack. Or Jack the Stubborn. Jack McStubborn...”

Their conversation devolved into a squabble familiar to anyone who had known them even in passing at the Guild. Jack's thoughts lingered, however, on the sell sword with only weeks to live. Had it been Klessan who had been bitten, he knew he would not have let things go nearly so easily.

X

“This'll be where we part ways then,” Trader Bob said to the two Heroes. They stood at a literal crossroads; Klessan's family continuing to the coast while the Traders were turning south. “As agreed, five gold coin for your services, and free passage for yours,” he said, speaking first to Jack and then to Klessan. “I'll have the balverine heads posted to your Guild when they're done.”

Jack caught the thrown pouch reflexively, not entirely sure the Trader was being serious. He deliberately didn't look at Klessan.

“I bid you good day,” the Trader said, taking up the reigns of his wagon. “Gee-yup!”

They watched as the caravan passed them by, quickly drawing away. 

Jack was the first to speak. “There are only five gold coins in this pouch,” he said flatly.

At his side, Klessan was ropeable. “Free passage? Is he fucking kidding me? I saved his bloody hide!”

“Them's the deals you made,” Ma said, unsympathetic. “Can't expect a Trader to part with coin he don't have to.”

“Skorm stricken miser,” Jack said. He reached into his bag, seeking his money pouch. “Hope his moustache turns grey and falls off.”

“Set fire to his stupid feather,” Klessan muttered to herself. “Jack I need you to teach me how to breathe fire. You can do that, right?”

Jack ignored her, instead handing over two gold pieces and five silver. “Here. We'll split it.”

“No, I can't take it,” Klessan said.

“I don't want it all after he didn't give you squat,” Jack said, scowling.

“Keep it. I don't want it.”

“Dammit Klessan--”

“If no one wants it, I'll take it,” Gabe said, making an exaggerated motion to take the coins in Jack's hand. 

“I'll take it,” Klessan said, taking the coins quickly. She glared at her brother, but missed his smirk as she muttered to herself under her breath. 

“River Lady will see to him, don't you worry,” Ma said. “It's time we were on the road.”

“Do you want to keep with us, Jack?” Klessan asked.

Jack turned to face his friend, eyebrow raised in question.

“It's not that I don't pine after your company, it's just that there is really nothing for a Hero to do in my village except hope for a kraken attack,” Klessan said, answering his unasked question.

“Don't forget the interfering old aunts trying to marry you off--”

“Master Jack. This is your Guildmaster. Kindly report back to the Guild post haste. There is a Quest awaiting your attention.”

“--pump you for grandchildren,” Victor finished, sounding disgruntled. 

Jack blinked, confused by the strange overlay of conversations. “Uh,” he said, eloquently.

“Who was that?” Klessan asked, recognising what had happened. “Duran? Whisper?”

“Guildmaster, actually,” Jack said. “He wants me to come back to the Guild for a Quest.”

Klessan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said. “You were requested specifically?”

“I'm...not sure, actually,” Jack said, frowning. “He just said there was a Quest waiting for me.”

Gabe and Victor took the opportunity to check over the oxen, while Ma continued to listen in unabashedly. 

“Guildmaster say what the Quest was about?” Klessan said, rolling one shoulder.

“No. Just said there was a Quest waiting for me,” Jack said. He rested a gloved hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Sounds like it could be fun,” Klessan said. “You'll have to tell me how it goes.”

“I'll be sure to tell you all about the kick arse trophy I take,” Jack said, smirking at his friend.

“Oh, goody. It'll be a pleasant diversion from the bustle of village life,” Klessan said. She pulled a face.

“You could always come back to the Guild with me,” Jack said, quickly. “Take a Quest or two of your own.”

Klessan grimaced. “I would, but I need to spend some time with my family first.” Tellingly, she didn't look over to her mother as she spoke. “I'll start taking proper Quests soon.”

Jack managed to refrain from scowling at her words. Whisper's brother was outright training her, but Duran and Klessan's families seemed to want them to settle down and make their lives easier.

He did scowl at that thought; things weren't at all like that. Duran's clan were at odds with their rivals, and Klessan's mother genuinely wanted to spend time with her only daughter. If he was being honest with himself, he would consider the chance that he wished for his own family to make demands on his time—but he had learned long ago that to think on what might have been lead only to pain, and he rarely cared to revisit those old memories. 

Jack didn't voice any of those thoughts, however. “You should spend some time with your family,” he said, “and I'll make you the same deal I made with Duran. If we haven't caught up by Skormdron's Eve, all of us, then we'll make a point of meeting up and taking a great Quest together.”

A quick flash of guilt crossed Klessan's face at first, but she was smiling by the time Jack had finished speaking. “I'll hold you to that, Jack,” she said. Impulsively, she stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight hug, chin on his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“No promises,” Jack said, returning the hug. They separated, and he eyes his overly enthusiastic, curly haired friend. “Try not to go looking for any kraken nests.”

“No promises,” Klessan said back to him. 

Jack raised a hand in farewell to Klessan's family, sparing a nod for Klessan herself. He turned back down the road he had just travelled, setting himself a brisk pace. The Guildmaster, and a Quest, waited.

X x X

It was just on dusk, five days later, that Jack approached the great double doors of the Guild of Heroes. The lanterns on the road leading to them had been lit, and there were several small merchant stalls just closing up for the night. 

Jack shouldered one of the heavy doors open slightly, slipping into the high vaulted antechamber that was the Map Room of the Guild. He surveyed the room as the door behind him closed; it was mostly empty, with only a single Instructor dealing with a lingering client. The Trainees and Apprentices would be gathered in the eating hall or completing their out of class study, while their Instructors would be preparing for the next day of training or taking a well deserved break. The lingering client departed at length, and the Instructor gave a sigh of relief. 

“Excuse me,” Jack said, approaching the woman. “Could you direct me to the Guildmaster?”

The white robed woman looked pained. “I'm sorry, but the Guildmaster is no longer—wait, you're not a client, are you?”

“No, I'm a Hero like yourself,” Jack said with a bit of a grin. He still got a buzz out of introducing himself as a Hero.

The woman smiled at his pleased demeanor, and Jack was struck by a nagging sense of familiarity. “You'll be Jack, then?” she asked.

Jack nodded, trying to place the woman. He couldn't recall ever being taught by her.

“Guildmaster would like to see you in his office,” she told him. “He said you would be here tonight.”

“Did he tell you what this was about?” Jack asked, not really expecting an answer. “I only know there is a Quest for me.”

“I think it's to do with the raid on the Guild,” the woman told him. “Not that we're making a big deal of it until we have the heads of those responsible, you hear.”

Jack nodded his understanding, even as he recalled why the woman was familiar. She had been present during the raid, and had been knocked down by the second explosion after the wall had been blown apart. One of the grey armoured raiders had slit her throat as she lay on the ground; he could make out a faint white scar. “We've found who did it then?” he asked. 

“I couldn't say,” the Instructor said. “Guildmaster only told me a little.”

Jack thanked her and took his leave, making his way through familiar passages to the Guildmaster's office. He glanced out a stained glass window as he passed it, towards Maze's tower. The tower windows were unlit; the archmage must have been out on personal business or a rare Quest.

A pair of Trainees dashed past him, shooting envious and admiring glances at his sword and the iron bracers he wore. He ran a critical eye over the Guild issued white shirt and brown trousers he wore. He really should invest in some decent armour, or better clothes. It wasn't like he lacked for funds after the slightly lucrative windfall of his first Quest. His path took him past the room he had shared with Whisper for years, and he realised with a start that it had not yet been filled with a new pair of Trainees—his classmates were still only Apprentices, gearing up for their final examinations. It was a bizarre feeling. He felt like he had been a Hero for a year already, when in truth it had yet to be a full month.

Th door to the Guildmaster's office was closed when he approached it; he knocked a swift pattern on it and entered after a murmur invited him in. The Guildmaster greeted him with a nod, poring over some papers on his dark wooden desk, almost overflowing with scrolls and knick knacks. The office was a library unto itself, stone walls hidden from sight by tall shelves that each looked to have been carved out of a single piece of wood. All were full to the point of being overburdened, save one in the corner of the room, almost hidden by the scrolls and tomes from the shelves on either side of it. A small hunk of unusually shiny metal, a cracked Guild Seal, a lock of red hair, and a vial of what looked like blood—trophies.

For a moment, Jack was caught up in fantasy of the stories behind the trophies the Guildmaster deemed to be worth displaying. He focused, however, when he realised he was not the only guest in the Guildmaster's office. Whisper sat at a high backed chair in her dress armour of greens and blues, impatiently tapping a stylised steel rod against her leg.

Whisper turned to face him as he approached the spare chair beside her. “You took your time, farm boy,” she said. “You get lost, did you?”

“No, I came across a city girl in distress and had to help her,” Jack said, taking a seat. “You can imagine how much effort that was.”

“Children,” the Guildmaster said, cutting across them. His moustache twitched in amusement. “Thank you for coming.”

Jack shrugged, while Whisper nodded. When the Guildmaster called, you answered.

“With luck, the Quest I am tasking you with will be a short one,” the elder said, steepling his fingers. “But first, I would ask if you have given any thought to the raid on the Guild.”

“I have been more focused on training with my brother more than anything,” Whisper admitted. 

Jack just shook his head. He had assumed that the raid on the Guild would be dealt with the same way previous attacks had been—a group of Heroes would be chosen to hunt down those responsible and kill them with little fanfare. In such cases, the Guild preferred to let the results speak for themselves. He frowned as a thought occurred to him.

“Is this what this is?” Jack asked. “Have you found out who was behind the raid?”

“An astute observation, but only partially correct,” the Guildmaster said. “Tell me, do you know anything about the raiders themselves? Recognise their armour, or language perhaps?”

Jack and Whisper shared a glance. The armour common to different parts of Albion had been a pet interest of Duran's, but it was Whisper who had been fascinated by knowledge of all the cultures recorded in the Guild library. He nodded for her to go ahead.

“I've never read of any culture like them,” Whisper said, surprising her friend. “But given their appearance...they come from somewhere cold, but not Hook Coast or the Northern Wastes. They might hail from even further north, few explorers have ever travelled beyond Archon's Folly, so...” she trailed off under the penetrating stare of the Guildmaster. 

“Go on,” Weaver said, motioning for her to continue.

Whisper cleared her throat. “So I would say they came form beyond that, but we have never made contact with a civilisation that far away, since the time of the Old Kingdom, at least.”

“Even then,” Jack said. “There was a nation to the west that the Old Kingdom traded with, but they were the most distant.”

Whisper nodded, taking his word for it. “This is all just guesswork, Guildmaster,” she said, fidgeting slightly. “They could have been a group of Snowspire circus tumblers for all I know.”

“Your reasoning is sound,” the Guildmaster said, “but you lack the information needed to draw the correct conclusions.”

“Where are they from then, sir?” Jack asked. He was curious, but not overly interested. 

“South. Far, far to the south,” Weaver said. “They are a raiding culture, sustaining themselves on the spoils taken from neighbouring peoples.”

“How did they come to Albion?” Whisper asked. “It is surely a great journey.”

“And why attack the Guild?” Jack added. “As far inland as we are, there are plenty of easier targets all along the coast,” he said, thinking of Oakvale, isolated by Darkwood, far to the south.

“They were carried here by a powerful ocean current, aboard three large ships the likes of which have not been seen by these shores for an age,” the Guildmaster told them. “They attacked the Guild because they were told it was a source of great treasure.”

There was a brief moment of disbelieving silence, and then the two young Heroes attempted to ask a hundred questions as once. The Guildmaster held up a hand for silence, and they quieted—briefly.

“Where did you learn all this?” Whisper asked.

“One of the Wiccermen, as they call themselves, was unfortunate to be taken captive,” Weaver said, pronoucning the name with a hard 'c'. “Their interrogation was most fruitful.”

“Who set them on the Guild then?” Jack asked, leaning forward in his seat. “And why?”

“Alas, my captive was not informed. Such details were kept from the common men,” Weaver said, glancing at one of the files on his desk. “However, the body of their leader was not found amongst the corpses.”

An anticipatory gleam shone in Whisper's eyes. “This Quest, then...”

The Guildmaster smiled slightly, tipping his head towards them. “Indeed,” he said. “From the mind of their captain, we shall divine the identity of those who would seek to attack us, and how they came into contact with the Wiccermen.”

The plan sounded promising, Jack thought, and yet... “Why us, sir?” he asked of their elder. “We were Apprentices only a month ago. Surely there are others you could have chosen,” he said reluctantly.

Whisper frowned at him, but seemed interested in the answer herself. 

“Unfortunately, we do not have a certain location for the remaining Wiccermen,” Weaver said. “What we do have is the camp from which they launched their attack. It is abandoned now, but there are only so many places nearby that such a force might hide,” the elder Hero said. “The pair of you will be investigating but one of these, by virtue of your prior experience fighting them.”

“We may not even get to fight them then,” Whisper said, disappointed. 

The Guildmaster chuckled. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. You would be well served by proceeding under the assumption that you will, however.”

“Yes sir,” Whisper said.

“That will be all for tonight,” the Guildmaster told them. “You may pick up the Quest card with the details in the morning. Until then, I believe your old room has yet to be filled, and dinner is still being served in the dining hall.”

Jack and Whisper rose, each giving the man who had watched over much of their childhood a slight bow. “Thank you sir,” Jack said, speaking for the both of them.

The Guildmaster watched them go, waiting for the door to close before retrieving a file hidden under a stack of books. He looked it over one more time, considering the details of the Wiccermen encampment his scouts had found. Their numbers should prove little trouble for the two promising young Heroes he had long kept an eye on.

Mentoring skilled young Heroes was old hat for the Hero they called Weaver; the real trick was doing so without letting such attention go to their heads. If doing so meant speaking several small fictions...well.

Another thread was prepared, waiting to be woven into the larger pattern.


	7. Wiccermen

“Durandal? His full name is Durandal?” Whisper asked, disbelief all over her features.

“Klessan said the same thing,” Jack said, grinning.

The two Heroes were following a lesser known path through the woods that the Guild laid claim to. Occasionally used to take Apprentices on training hikes, today it would take them to the possible hidden camp of the Wiccermen raiders. The midday sun peeked through the canopy above them, lighting their way.

“How did that come out?” Whisper asked, twirling the stylised metal rod she carried in one hand. 

“His sister,” Jack said. “Yeah, I know,” he added at Whisper's surprised look.

“Big man was keeping secrets,” Whisper said, lips quirking in amusement. No one expected the dreadlocked Hero who was already over six feet tall to be anything approaching subtle. “What is he up to? Guildmaster said he hadn't come back for another Quest.”

“He's going to be staying with his clan for a time, I think,” Jack said. “They're having some issues with another clan.”

“Trouble?”

“Well, could be. We fought off a raid, and the Fox clan had hired a Hero to help them,” Jack said.

“Really? Someone renowned?” Whisper asked.

Jack made a see-sawing motion with one gloved hand. “Maybe. His name was Duellist. I captured him, actually.”

Whisper pulled a piece of beef jerky from her pocket and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I think I've heard of him. Not bad, farmboy.”

“He outclassed me handily when I fought him blade to blade,” Jack said, “but he didn't fare so well when I started throwing lightning at him.”

“Lightning is your solution to everything, isn't it Jack?” Whisper asked, amused.

“It's worked well enough so far,” Jack said, crossing his arms. 

Whisper laughed, and they fell into an easy silence as they walked. Jack occupied himself with a simple Will exercise he had come across in Maze's journal meant to strengthen Will channels. He had come across it when flicking through the book in search of answers to the highly inconvenient issue of bleeding from his eyes and nose. While he was fairly sure the issue stemmed from using expression together that placed too much stress on his body, he was still going to check with Maze the next time he saw the man. That, and ask him about the way his Will was pulsing down his sword each time he used the exercise he had found. 

He glanced subtly as Whisper. She was walking in step with him, flipping and catching the metal rod she carried. So far, she had made no mention of their graduation celebration or of the events, or Event, of that night. Whatever her reasoning, if she didn't care to bring it up, he wouldn't either. As the first connection he had made after the destruction of his home, he had no inclination to muddy or strain things by bringing up a kiss that was likely nothing more than a pleasant conclusion to a night of fun.

Snorting softly to himself, he shook his head. He was likely over thinking things to a horrendous degree, in any case. He did his best to put it from his mind and focus on his Will exercise. 

 

They walked for some hours, long enough for the bright midday sun to darken into a murky orange. The path roughly followed a tributary of the Bower River, at times drawing close, even crossing it on rickety old wood and rope bridges, before the lay of the land forced it away. The small river bore evidence of great floods in years past, with high, sheer banks carved through the landscape becoming more and more common as they left the lowlands and came to the outermost reach of the grasping fingers of the Pyrepeaks. In places, the river was more akin to a water filled canyon than the gentle stream they had encountered earlier in their hike. 

Conversation was interspersed by long periods of comfortable silence. Jack had caught Whisper up on his adventures with Duran (as much as he could) and his brief reunion with Klessan. The dark skinned girl was particularly interested b his encounter with the balverine pack, having come across the tracks of one during her time with her brother. Perhaps aware of its chances against a Hero like Thunder, the beast had given the small group of merchants they were escorting a wide berth. 

For her part, Whisper told her friend about the simple Quests her brother had accompanied her on, giving advice and sharing the wealth of his experience. He had also shared the basics of some of his preferred Will expressions—but only after learning to what extent Jack was talented in the field. Whisper was planning to milk her brother's competitive streak on her behalf for all it was worth, and Jack had decided to cheer her on. Thunder had really rubbed him the wrong way. 

“At this rate, we won't come upon the Wiccermen until the evening, if they are here at all,” Whisper said, breaking the silence of the last hour. The birdsong in the trees and the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet seemed quieter in the wake of it. 

Jack shrugged. “I have what I need for a few nights in the woods,” he said, gesturing to his enhanced pouch. The country they walked wasn't particularly inhospitable. 

“As do I,” Whisper said, thumping the bedroll secured at the top of her heavy pack. “That doesn't mean I'd care to do so given the choice.”

Jack coughed, disguising a snicker. “City-girl.”

Whisper raised a single eyebrow at him, disdainful as a sphinx. “Warm bed and bath, or lumpy bedroll and cold stream?” she asked. 

Jack harrumphed, electing not to dignify the question with a response. 

“That's what I thought,” Whisper said, smirking.

“I don't see why you don't just heat up the river for your bath,” Jack said, arguing for the sake of it. He kicked a loose rock along the path. 

Whisper rolled her eyes. “Not all of us have the Will to throw away heating water that will flow downstream the next second.”

“Perhaps you just aren't applying yourself,” Jack said, a faint smile on his lips. 

Whisper let out an uncharacteristic snort. “I'll show you applying, farmboy. I'll apply my boot to your--”

Whatever Whisper was going to apply her boot to, Jack would never know, as they rounded a bend in the path and found themselves face to face with a trio of Wiccermen. They were lightly garbed, clad only in trousers made of a strange coarsely furred material. Despite their lack of clothing and the coolness of the late afternoon, rivulets of sweat ran down their bare torsos. They were armed only with a pair of bows and a dagger each between them. The expressions they wore betrayed their surprise at seeing the Heroes; they were clearly not a patrol on the lookout for foes. 

Jack was the first to react. His sword swept free from its sheath without a hint of resistance even as he stepped forward. The weapon was like a quicksilver extension of his body; he could feel the tip whistling through the air like it was his own flesh and blood. The closest of the three Wiccermen choked and fell, a spray of arterial blood staining the dirt, his throat torn open. 

Whisper was only a heartbeat behind him, holding the metal rod she had been playing with all day in a two handed grip. She twisted it between her hands, and it sprung outwards from either end. The dull thump it gave was the only warning the remaining two foes received before she was laying into them with the unveiled staff. They dropped to the ground moments later, insensate and bleeding sluggishly from their temples. They had barely had time to draw their daggers. 

Jack knelt down to clean his blade on the trousers of the man he had killed. He grinned up at Whisper, excitement building. 

“Perhaps we will come upon the Wiccermen tonight after all,” Whisper said, her tone light, as if uncaring. The way she was twirling her staff betrayed her anticipation, however. 

“Told you we'd find them,” Jack said. He eyed the two unconscious men. “We should hide the mess, though.”

The two Heroes shared a glance and took up a dropped dagger each. It was the work of a moment to do the deed, and the work of another to conceal the three corpses in overgrowth to the side of the path. Afterwards, Whisper turned to eye the tracks that the dead men had left on the path, keen gaze picking them out with ease. 

“Your wisdom is undeniable, farmboy,” she said.

“I always thought so too,” Jack said, and Whisper raised her eyes skyward, as if praying for patience. 

Their footsteps nearly silent, the pair moved to follow the tracks. The path wound closer to the river as they walked, and soon the sound of rushing water reached their ears. 

“Waterfall?” Whisper asked.

Jack shook his head. “Rapids.”

They rounded a bend in the path, and the ground dropped off abruptly on one side. Where once there had stood a barrier of trees, time and a powerful current had worn the earth beneath them away, causing a landslide and creating a steep muddy cliff. Anchored at the base of the cliff, despite the swift current, were a pair of long, dangerous looking craft. Adorned with shields and strange, swirling designs along their lengths, the prow of each was crowned by the skull of a strange long snouted beast with far too many teeth. 

Jack spared a moment to wish Klessan were here to identify the strange skull, before ducking down low, alongside Whisper. The ships were not unattended—there were Wiccermen aboard, armed and armoured. 

“Well then,” Jack said, eyes alight. “I'd say we found them. Good thing we didn't make any noise back there.”

Whisper was straight down to business, already focussing on the matter at hand. “We have maybe another two hours of good light before dusk. They'll spot us the moment we start climbing down there unless we wait for nightfall.”

“Even then, if they're paying attention and have a good moon,” Jack said.

“We could assault them outright,” Whisper said. “Between my bombs and your Will--”

“Too much chance of killing the one we want alive,” Jack said, shaking his head. “We'll have to find the captain before we start sinking boats.”

Whisper frowned, denied the pleasure of raining fire on the ones who had attacked their home. “How do you suppose they got their ships this far inland?” she asked. 

“Time, and a lot of muscle,” Jack said. He pointed towards the long ships. “I think those are oar ports on the side, too.”

“Wait and watch, then?” Whisper asked, already inching back into a more concealed position.

“Wait and watch,” Jack said. He moved to join her, the inkling of an idea already germinating in his mind. 

X

“This is a bloody terrible idea,” Jack said, teeth chattering as he sank into the cold mountain river. He was clad only in a pair of shorts, and the naked sword he gripped reflected the moonlight back into the sky. 

“Blame yourself,” Whisper said, also shivering madly as she joined him in the shallow bend of the river. She had shucked her dress armour, wearing her Guild issue trousers and a tight layer of bindings around her chest. Any ardour Jack might have felt at the sight was doused by the cold water they stood in. “This was entirely your idea,” she finished. She dunked herself and surfaced with a gasp, water cascading off the ringlets of her hair. 

“It's a terrible one,” Jack said. “You should have stopped me.” He slid under the water's surface and rose slowly, his growing mop of hair soaked. 

The two Heroes were half a mile upstream from the Wiccermen ships, having crept through the brush to slip past their sentries. Their other belongings had been hidden further downstream, awaiting pickup when their task was done. 

As the sun had set, they had watched the two ships, observing what appeared to be two full crews go about their business. There had been no outcry or furore over the three men they had slain in the time they had watched their foes, leaving them confident enough to make their attempt that night. 

Jack suppressed his shudders as he stepped further out into the river, as well as the urge to warm himself with his Will. Without his glove, the brand on his palm would be a beacon for anyone who chanced to look down to the water, and ruin their attempt at a stealthy approach. Besides, Whisper would never let him live it down if he gave into temptation while she did things 'properly'. 

The current grew stronger, tugging at his limbs. He kicked off the riverbed and let it take him, speeding him downstream. Whisper was right behind him. 

Aided by the current, the two Heroes reached the longships within ten minutes. As they drew closer, they ceased their paddling and submerged themselves as best they could, while keeping their heads above the water.

There were oil lanterns spaced along each ship, but for the most part they were shuttered, preserving the night vision of those on watch. During their earlier surveillance, Jack and Whisper had spied three Wiccermen on sentry duty per ship, while most of their compatriots retreated below decks to sleep. 

The ships were only twenty odd metres away now, and Jack took in a deep breath, sinking beneath the surface entirely. He began to kick and stroke, speeding himself onwards. The water was dark, even with the cloudless sky, and he used the riverbank to guide himself towards the ship he had targeted. Whisper was nearby, almost indistinguishable, aiming for the other end of the ship. 

A dark shape loomed out of the river murk without warning, and Jack immediately reversed his body, slowing himself before he collided with the ships hull. His feet hit the wood with a light thump, indistinguishable from any other piece of debris in the river. He allowed his eyes and nose to rise above the waterline and held himself up against the side of the ship, the current trying to dislodge him and take him further downstream. When no alarm was raised and no curious sentry came to investigate, Jack looked for Whisper and sighted her further along the side of the ship. He gave her a nod, and she began to move, ducking beneath the surface once more and swimming for the heavy rope anchor holding the ship in place.

The next part of the plan was the most dangerous. Whisper would have to climb the anchor rope swiftly enough to avoid detection, while taking care not to sway it overmuch. She would then lower a rope they had noticed earlier coiled at the edge of the ship down to Jack, and he would join her as they attempted to make their way to the main cabin without detection. He was quick on his feet, but she had always been the more agile of the two. Much as he hated waiting, she was the best one for the job.

Whisper began to climb the rope, holding her body close to it to avoid swaying and using even, steady movements. Water dripped from her body, and Jack was thankful for the wind rustling through the trees around the river that masked it from hearing as it fell back into the water. She reached the top of the rope in short order, and pulled herself over the rail of the ship, disappearing out of sight. Jack's pulse picked up, and he began counting the seconds. The coil of rope they had spied should be within arms reach, and the sentries--

There was a soft surprised exclamation, and the sound of flesh striking flesh. Jack's pulse skyrocketed, and he forced himself to be still, trusting in Whisper. After what felt like an eternity later, a body was lowered, a rope fastened around its neck. Jack helped Whisper lower the Wiccerman's corpse into the water with minimal splash, making sure it was fully submerged. His friend then waved him up; he began to climb, using the rope to 'walk' up the side of the ship. 

Jack slid over the rail to join Whisper as she crouched in the shadow of a stack of crates. The remaining two sentries were watching different approaches, and were not as focused as they could have been. Their comrade's disappearance would go unnoticed for several minutes yet. 

“There's the main cabin,” Whisper said, nodding towards the sole construct on the main deck. “Still think the captain will be in there?”

“It's as good a place to start as any,” Jack replied quietly. “And we'll feel really silly if we search the entire ship first only to find he was in there all along.”

“Make for the cabin on three then,” Whisper said. “One, two--”

The cabin exploded. 

Jack and Whisper were thrown from their feet by the intensity of the blast, a wave of sound and heat washing over them. There was a split second of stillness as the splintered remains of the cabin rained down on the deck, and then all was chaos.

Startled birds erupted into raucous flight along the banks of the river, cawing their displeasure at being woken. On the other longship a small bell began to ring rapidly, sounding the alarm to the Wiccermen who were already shaking the hold with the pounding of their footsteps. Jack staggered to his feet, squinting as he looked for Whisper. The flash of the explosion had sent this night vision to shit. Finding his friend, he hauled her to her feet, checking for injuries as the shouts and bellows of the Wiccermen grew louder and more organised. He found one; a splinter of wood had pierced her arm, going clear through.

“No bone!” Whisper shouted over the din. Her eyes were hyper alert with adrenaline, and she held her injured arm close to her body. It wasn't her main arm, thankfully.

“We need to move!” Jack answered. 

“But the Quest – oh, bollocks,” Whisper said, swearing uncharacteristically.

A moment later, Jack saw why. A large group of Wiccermen had reached top deck, a man of imposing physical appearance leading them. He wore the shimmering scaled hide of some great beast and carried a great battle axe easily in hone hand. His head was shaven, and a spiked goatee adorned his chin; woad dye patterned his scalp. It appeared that the Wiccermen leader hadn't been in his cabin after all.

He was not quite at tall as Duran, but heavier with muscle. The Wiccer leader pointed his great-axe at the two Heroes one handed, barking a command. He seemed to be waiting for something. 

Jack exchanged a glance with Whisper. Her face was tight with pain, but it was controlled, and her staff was ready in her fist. 

The Wiccer leader spoke again. The language he spoke was oddly rhythmical, but the tone used was unyielding. The huge man grew impatient with their lack of compliance, or perhaps their understanding, pointing first at their weapons and then over the rail of the ship.

Jack snarled at the implied order, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. His blade snarled with him, the whisper of a balverine's growl echoing unsettlingly over the deck. Some of the Wiccermen shifted uneasily; their leader didn't, even when Whisper conjured lightning in the palm of her wounded hand. He took his axe I both hands and stepped forward. 

Wood thumped on wood as the second longship drew alongside, its deck lined with Wiccermen. The lingering flames of their leader's cabin were doused, leaving hard faces shrouded in darkness.

There was a whisper of movement, and Jack reacted instinctively. His body flared blue, clawing back the darkness and throwing the deck into stark illumination. The Wiccer leader was a bare foot away from him, ferocity in his eyes. The great-axe the man carried splintered the deck as it passed through Jack's incorporeal form. 

The Wiccerman's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Jack's glowing form. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity as Jack met his gaze – and so Jack was the only one to truly see what happened next.

A breeze carressed Jack's cheek, stirred by the wake of something small and pointed that had shot over his shoulder. The object pierced the Wiccer leader's eye and continued through to his brain. The big man collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the deck with a thud. Jack stared down at the corpse, his expression frozen as he dropped out of his wraith form. To all watching, is appeared as if Jack had struck the man down without lifting a finger. 

The Wiccermen drew back, as if wary. It was more than wariness in their eyes, however, it was fear. Fear in their voices as they muttered to each other, fear in the grips on their weapons, and fear in the signs that several made before themselves.

Jack had no time to divine the meaning of it all. Their target was dead at their feet, their Quest a failure. A fireball erupted from his hand, blasting the mast and setting the furled sails alight. Whisper followed suit, lightning arcing from her fingertips to the neighbouring ship. It was not strong enough to kill, but it provided the distraction needed. The two Heroes leaped over the rail and into the river, diving deep. Arrows pierced the surface in their wake, but were slowed by the water before they could hit. Jack swam hard, his stomach scraping the sandy riverbed as more arrows pierced the water around him. One nicked his leg, drawing blood. Thinking quickly, he conjured light, broadcasting their location – and then directed the orb of light back beneath the longship they had just escaped. The shower of arrows ceased, and Jack kicked his legs out, following Whisper's murky form. She swam straight for the bank, breaking the surface amongst the low hanging branches of a nearby willow; Jack was right behind her. The clambered up onto the muddy bank and out of sight, hidden by the curtain of willow leaves. The angry shouts of the Wiccermen echoed in the night as the light Jack had conjured died. 

“Skorm claim it,” Whisper said. She shivered violently as she cradled her wounded arm. “What happened back there?”

“Someone assassinated our target,” Jack said. He scowled as he stuck his sword in the dirt, shivering as well. “How bad is your arm?”

“It went clean through,” Whisper said, inspecting the long splinter that speared her arm, wincing. “I can feel it pressing against the bone though.”

“Good thing it's only thin,” Jack said, grabbing the thicker side with one hand and Whisper's arm with the other. “Ready?”

“Get it over with,” she said, gritting her teeth.

“Ok. One, two--,” he pulled it suddenly, and the splinter came out with a squelch, blood running in its wake. Whisper groaned, equal parts angry and pained, and he cupped both sides of the wound in his hands, channelling the only basic brute force healing expression he knew through it. The flow stopped and he took his bloodied hands away, revealing an angry circle of half healed flesh.

“Good enough,” Whisper said. “We need to move before they start searching for us properly.”

“Our gear, then double time to the Guild,” Jack said, agreeing. 

A flare of light burst into existence right in front of the tree they hid under, drawing all eyes on the river to its branches, and the forms of the two Heroes within them. 

There was a brief pause, long enough for them to meet eyes and communicate an unspoken, 'oh shit'. Then they turned an ran, cries of the Wiccermen dogging their footsteps. A javelin speared through the branches, and a small volley of arrows pierced the ground where they had stood, but the pair were already gone, scrambling up the overgrown riverbank. The Wiccermen began to lower several small boats from their ships, and the hunt was on. 

X

Jack and Whisper ran along the twisting dirt path, sacrificing stealth for speed. They had no desire to fight their pursuers half clothes, if they had to fight at all – but perhaps they would not have a choice, with the unseen foe assassinating their target and setting the Wiccermen on their trail. 

Even now, Jack could hear them through the dark of the forest, spreading out to search for their trail. It would not take them long to realise that their quarry had not gone to ground. 

“We will outrun them at this pace,” Whisper said, breathing steadily. There was no sign of any pain in her tone.

“So long as they're not pointed our way again,” Jack said. He winced as soon as he finished speaking.

Whisper glared at him as they ran. “You really had to temp--”

A tall oak, just off the path, was briefly consumed by a gout of flame. The fire didn't take, but it did the job intended – every human eye in the vicinity was drawn to it.

“Farmboy,” Whisper said, her voice a study in disappointment. They quickened their pace into a sprint. 

“Not nearly my fault,” Jack said, arguing despite the pace.

“Completely. You handed Skorm a gilded invitation.”

“You've been reading too many of Duran's ghost story books, citygirl,” Jack said.

“...shut up and run, farmboy.”

They reached the unassuming bend in the path where they had stashed their grea ahead of their pursuers, but not by much. They could be heard shouting to each other, and undoubtedly their scouts were even closer. The Heroes hurriedly uncovered their gear and donned their clothes and armour, before turning their attention to Whisper's large pack. 

“My pack is too much of a burden to run with,” she said. 

“Take what can't be replaced and throw it in my pouch,” Jack said. “We'll have to leave the rest.”

Several trophies, a small bundle of letters and a number of potions, one of them glowing gold, were added to Jack's pouch before they concealed the pack beneath a layer of foliage once more. 

Were it not for the silence of the forest, the attack that came in the next instant would have wounded Jack grievously. As it was, he had a split second warning as he heard the buzz of a loosed arrow. He flinched at the thought of imminent danger and dropped instinctively into his wraith form. The path was bathed in blue light and the arrow shot through his back harmlessly, disappearing into the woods. The brush with death dumped a litre of adrenaline into his system, and the light his incorporeal form gave off flared brighter. 

Whisper reacted even as he turned to face their attacker. She produced a slim dagger from her belt and sent it flying end over end into the chest of an unarmoured Wiccermen holding a bow. A second foe, this one armoured in the strange grey hide they preferred, charged towards the Heroes, blade raised. He was stopped in his tracks by a bolt of lightning from Jack's outstretched hand and dropped to the dirt, flesh sizzling, even as Jack grunted from the strain.

More Wiccermen emerged from the brush and approached along the path, too many to fight with any surety of walking away alive. They eyed the Heroes warily however, their eyes reflecting some manner of primal fear in the blue light cast by Jack's form. Some even tried to shy away from it, half concealing themselves behind trees and shrubs. 

The strain of maintaining the Will expression was too much to maintain however, especially after casting lightning from within it. He allowed it to end, dropping back into tangibility. 

Whisper prowled up to his side, staff extended and at the ready. She moved like a cornered mountain lion, her gaze shifting rapidly. “I don't suppose you've learned to teleport yet, have you?” she asked, voice low. 

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. Whatever hesitance had come over the Wiccermen at the sight of his wraith form was already fading, and he could feel their intent building. “Got any blast globes?”

“Three.”

“Throw them all, wide spread, and run. Don't bother lighting them. I'll be right behind you,” Jack said. He whetted his lips. The enemy were seconds from attacking, and they were too spread out for any one attack to keep them at bay. They were going to be overwhelmed.

Whisper didn't question him. Her free hand dipped into a pouch at her belt and flicked out, hurling the three clay spheres at their foes in an arc. 

The enemy charged. A fireball wouldn't be big enough, and he couldn't cast them fast enough to do what he needed. 

Jack closed his eyes. His pathways were ready. He had the need. He knew the steps. His grip tightened on his sword as it thrummed in time with his heartbeat. His jaw stretched open and he vomited forth a torrent of unceasing flame, bathing the path in the breath of Skorm, building a wall of flame. The blast globes detonated, blasting those unfortunate enough to be anywhere near the forming wall with scorching hot shrapnel. 

Jack cut the flow of Will to the expression with a grimace. His throat and mouth were parched, devoid of all moisture. He turned tail and ran, doing his best to ignore the screams of the few Wiccermen that were burning alive and the memories of Oakvale that they conjured. The wall of flame would not last forever. 

Whisper fell in beside him, having refused to run more than a few steps before he joined her. They ran in silence. The trip back to the Guild would be a long one, made longer by the unseen threat that might still be lurking in the shadowed forest, dogging their footsteps. Stealth had never been a talent of Jack's, and short of burning the forest down around them, he had little chance of getting at the illusive foes. It was not a feeling he enjoyed.

The run back to the Guild was a long one. 

X

“...we didn't catch so much as a glimpse of whoever was setting the Wiccermen on us,” Jack said, grimacing. “And the Wiccermen wouldn't have cared; so far as they know I killed their leader.”

“They were wary enough of your wraith expression,” Whisper said. “Seems they thought you could strike them dead at will.”

The Guildmaster regarded the two young Heroes seated before him with a frown on his face. Events had not at all played out as he had arranged them. It was not a situation he had faced for some years now. “And you saw nothing of the assassin themselves?” he asked. 

Whisper shook her head, disgruntled. “I did not even see the dart that slew our target.”

“Can't even be sure there was only the one assassin,” Jack added.

“I see,” Weaver said. He laced his fingers, pondering. 

Jack gazed about the Guildmaster's office, savouring the comfort of the seat he rested in. They had pushed themselves hard on the return trip to the Guild, on top of having travelled through the day already. Dawn was approaching, and he was cycling his Will through his channels in an effort to remain alert. He could only imagine how Whisper felt, although the bags beneath her eyes and the slight trembling of her hands spoke well enough.

“The outcome of you Quest is far from ideal, but it could have been worse. Neither of you suffered serious injury, or were killed,” the Guildmaster said at length, regarding them with a serious gaze. “However, this was a Quest issued by the Guild itself. I expect the pair of you to better yourselves so that we might have more confidence in you should we need to call upon you again in the future.”

Jack and Whisper straightened despite their tiredness. The Guildmaster's words, along with the sting of defeat from their first failed Quest, steeled their resolve. They exchanged a glance, and unspoken words passed between them. They turned back to the Guildmaster and nodded as one. 

“Dismissed, Heroes. Rest and recover. Tomorrow is a new day.”

Weaver watched as they left his office, concealing his satisfaction. The Quest was a failure, but his students continued to grow, and there was a new obstacle to turn his mind to. Life as the Guildmaster was never dull.

X x X

Jack woke many hours later, suddenly aware. The lack of gradual awakening combined with the surrounds of his old Guild room left him blinking in confusion for several moments before the events of his previous Quest caught up with him. Sitting up, he glanced around. Whisper was asleep in her bed, snoring. Her jaw hung slack and there was an open book resting precariously against her chin. He smirked, glancing out the window. Night reigned, but the moon was obscured by clouds, and he couldn't determine if the witching hour was yet to come or was already gone. 

The young Hero's stomach rumbled loudly, informing him of his ravenous hunger. He must have slept for some time. Sliding out of bed, he grabbed his shirt and trousers, slipping them on. He found one glove and covered the brand on his palm with it, before scrounging around for the second. Hunger made him impatient, however, and he gave it up as a lost cause. He padded silently from the room, closing the door behind himself with a faint click. 

The kitchen ovens were already being stoked by the tireless Guild cooks when Jack arrived in the main eating hall, telling him that daybreak and breakfast was still a short way off. One of the cooks was kind enough to ladle him out a bowl of the previous night's stew, and he settled down at one of the empty tables to devour it. He was halfway through his meal when he was joined by another.

“You're up early, boy. Decided a full day's sleep was enough, did you?”

Jack looked up at the sound of his mentor's voice. The old mage was dressed simply, clad in trousers and a long tunic, and he had a bowl of leftover strew for himself.

“I can breathe fire,” Jack said, unable to help the grin that came over his face.

Maze raised one silver eyebrow. “I'll alert the Bards. What Name should we suggest? Flame-tongue? The Immolator? Phoenix?”

“How about 'The Dragon Reborn?'” Jack said.

“Oh yes, marvellous idea. I'm sure you won't face a single bit of mockery from your peers for that choice,” Maze said, his tone as dry as the Samarkand desert.

Jack rolled his eyes at his mentor. “I doubt any Bards would be terribly impressed by my career so far.”

“You would think so,” Maze said, confusing his pupil. “Tell me of your progress with my journal,” he commanded, changing the topic.

“I told you only recent like,” Jack said. 

“You say you've not made any further progress?” Maze said.

“I can breathe fire, can't I?” Jack said, indignant.

Maze fixed him with a stern look, drumming a pattern on the table, and the young Hero hastened to answer the question. 

“I've been focusing on the internal Will manipulation and channelling it without an expression to release it with,” Jack said. “I thought with the whole,” he gestured with his glove covered hand, “thing, I'd see how quickly I could improve my control.”

“And your conclusions?”

“It's helping, quite a bit. To the point I feel more able to invoke precise expressions down that side over my other.”

“Truly?” Maze said, scratching at the stubble on his chin as he pondered. “it would seem you are more than just compatible with the runes, but attuned.”

“The Hero who branded his followers with runes from the Focus Site, did any of their notes survive?” Jack asked. 

“No,” Maze said. “Scythe saw them all destroyed.”

“Damn,” Jack said, frowning.

Maze stroked the line of one of the runes that marked his face. “However...it sounds perhaps that you may benefit from some symmetry.”

“Sir?”

“You say that you feel more control when you channel your Will through your branded side. Would then branding your other palm not be to your benefit?”

Jack felt slightly nauseous at the idea of subjecting himself to the painful branding process again. “Would it really be that helpful?”

Maze thought on his answer for a moment. “Consider if one side of your circulatory system was more efficient than the other. Balancing your channels would be the prudent course, if nothing else.”

“I suppose,” Jack said, still thinking of the idea with distaste.

“I would suggest applying the rune to your heels as well, but that would perhaps be venturing into the realm of overkill,” Maze said.

Jack blanched.

“One would think Ja—Skorm himself had just strolled in, with that expression on your face,” Maze said. “Oh, and don't worry about the pain. Unless you plan on finding another faerie to purge from your system while you apply the brand.”

“You're sure that's why it was so agonising?” Jack asked suspiciously.

“Not at all. But it did wipe that ridiculous expression from your face.”

Jack grumbled several unkind things under his breath about crotchety old archmages that Maze pretended not to hear.

“I suppose I'll head north again then, before I turn south,” Jack said.

“South?” Maze asked.

“I'm going back to Oakvale to look for my-for Theresa,” Jack said. His will was firm. “I'm going to track down everyone on the scroll you gave me and ask them what they know.”

“You think they will tell you what they may have hidden from me?” Maze asked. There was no judgement in his voice.

“I think they might tell more to a young man searching for his sister than an old Hero looking for a little girl after a raid,” Jack said. He finished his stew.

“And if your search does not lead to a happy conclusion?” Maze asked, his face grave. 

“I will track down and slaughter everyone even remotely connected to the raid,” Jack said, face carefully blank. He would refuse to acknowledge the possibility that his sister was anything but alive and well until he found unassailable proof otherwise.

Maze raised his cup to him. “Then I wish you luck. Avo smile on you, and guide you safely to your sister.”

Jack rose and departed from the hall after a shallow bow to his mentor. Maze watched him leave, gaze inscrutable. 

X x X

Jack stood at the edge of Greatwood, at the intangible border where it ended and the Darkwood began. A faint sense of apprehension lingered in his gut, unwarranted by there nonetheless. All his childhood he had been lectured and warned of the dangers that lurked in the fell forest; of what fate would befall him should he venture past the safe meadows of Barrow Fields. Now he stood on the far side, preparing to strike through it and return to the small hamlet he had not visited since he was but a weak child. 

He was not a child now. A magical pouch was fastened at one hip and his sword rested at the other. He wore a dull chain mail gorget around his throat, while his arms were protected by steel vambraces. His torso was unprotected, but then, it took more than just hitting him to actually strike a blow, and all that extra metal would just make his wraith form all the more draining. He still wore the simple shirt and trousers issued to him by the Guild, and each hand was covered by a tight leather glove. 

The young Hero took a deep breath and let the cold air fill his lungs. Very few of the russet leaves still clung to their branches, and winter was almost upon the land. It was the season that would give him the best chance of finding any who might know something about his sister. He took his first step into Darkwood, and - 

“Ahoy there, Hero!”

Jack turned, taking in the gaudily dressed man approaching. He wore clothes of a fine cut that looked more appropriate for a dinner party than traipsing through Greatwood. He was an eye catching shade of blue from boots to hat; the hat itself was more form than function as it sat cocked jauntily to one side. 

“I am the up and coming Bard Markus, soon to be the most renowned Bard in all of Albion! Who might you be, Hero?”

Jack stared. He had never met anyone quite so capable of trilling every word the said. “I'm..Jack. Just Jack.”

“Oho! Yet to earn a Name? I can help you there!” Markus said. “Escort me through the Darkwood to Barrow Fields and I shall pen a song in honour of your deeds.”

Jack was only able to offer up a bemused agreement in response.

x

“You don't think 'the dark and sinisterly gloomy woods' is overly trite, do you lad?” Markus said, barely an hours walk into the dark and sinisterly gloomy woods.

“...drop the 'dark'. Your audience already knows we're in Darkwood.”

“yes, quite so. 'The sinisterly gloomy woods were fraught with all manner of Skorm cursed peril, as the intrepid Hero guided the handsome Bard Markus, first of his name, through their shadowed trails...'.”

x

A howl rattled through the black, leafless trees, raising the hair on the back of Jack's neck. Markus' mumbled composition, a constant since they had reached the true blight of the Darkwood, stuttered to a halt.

“What in Avo's name was that?” the Bard asked fearfully. Keeping his mind on his passion had seemed to calm him, but the eerie howl had pierced his composure. “A wolf?”

“Balverine,” Jack said. “Only one by the sound of it though.”

“Oh, only one,” Markus said, pale as a sheet. “That's fine then.”

x

“Hobbes!” Markus yelped, alerting the squat fiends to the humans' presence. “Watch out!”

Jack manfully resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and summoned fire to swirl in the palm of his hand. He would blow them apart with a fireball when they clustered to attack.

The hobbes did not attack, however. Grumbling and growling to each other, they sidled off the path, keeping Jack in their sights until the last minute, before turning and dashing away. Jack couldn't help but blink at the strangely comedic sight.

x

The balverine howl came again, closer this time, and Markus forced a smile. 

“There's that blasted balverine again, eh? Good thing there's only one of them,” Markus said. “And that we're so close to the Trader's Rest...”

There was a second howl, then a third – both from different directions. The stagnant water of a nearby pond stirred to the faintest ripples. 

Markus tittered anxiously. “Ehh heh heh...shall we flee?”

Jack drew his sword in response, and if it snarled rather than rang as it left its sheath, Markus put it down to the slavering beast that chose that moment to drop from a tree down before them. 

The Hero was behind it in a rush of blue light, the tip of his blade seeking and finding its foul heart. A second balverine bounded out of the woods and Jack raised a fist crackling with lightning to meet it. 

x

“...it was marvellous, simply stupendous, the way he dispatched the beasts!” Markus said, revelling in the attention he commanded from the patrons of the tavern at Traders Rest. His hands shook as he raised a cup of well deserved whisky to his lips, be he ploughed on. “The first was slain with a flash of light and a single sword stroke, the second smote with lightning directly from the heavens! The third and fourth...”

A Trader, less enraptured in the tale, sat off to the side at a table adjacent to Jack's. He eyed the young Hero speculatively. “Did you really slay a pack of nine balverine by yourself?”

Jack shook his head as he finished making himself a sandwich of cheese and cold meat; food at the tavern was prohibitively expensive due to its isolation. “Only three. The last nearly got past me while I dealt with the first two though, so so that one must count for more.”

“How old did you say you were?”

“Sixteen summers.”

“Bloody hell,” the Trader muttered to himself. “My nephew is sixteen; he spends his days loafing about me sisters' shop and writing bad poetry about Lady Grey.”

Jack shrugged and focused on his sandwich. He was already looking forward to what would be his first night of sleep in a proper bed since he set off for Greatwood.

x

The path forked, and Jack came to a halt. The main path continued on, muddy and churned, wagon tracks and hoof prints all over it. The second was...strange. Ages past, it had been paved, and although the stones were cracked and twisted, no weed grew up from between them. Faint dusty outlines of boot prints betrayed the infrequent traffic upon it, and the road stretched far into the distance before turning out of sight. 

“Markus, what lays down that road?” Jack asked.

The Bard glanced down the path and shivered. Like all who had travelled the Darkwood before, he had been trying to ignore it. “It leads to the Chapel of Skorm. Few who visit the dark citadel ever return, and those who do are changed.” 

A gust of wind blew a flurry of leaves onto the fell path, and Jack watched as they shrivelled and crumbled into dust before his eyes. For a brief moment, he was nearly overcome by the urge to turn his Will loose and leave the road a cratered mess. The moment passed, and Jack turned away. They continued on, leaving the gateway to the Chapel behind them.

x

“What in Albion is that?!” Markus said as they closed on the exit to the Darkwood, pointing at a looming, boulder like shape that blocked their way.

“Earth troll,” Jack said. 

Markus squawked in alarm.

“It's dead, don't worry.”

“You're sure?” Markus asked.

In response, Jack pointed out the deep tracks that had been carved out of the troll's body. “It'd say this had been done by someone using twin blades if the wounds weren't so big. Whoever killed it took its gemstone eyes, too.”

“You sound most knowledgeable about the creatures of Albion, Hero,” Markus said. 

“No, that's my friend Klessan,” Jack said. “I only know about trolls because my friend Duran and I killed a rock troll our first week as Heroes.”

“Your first week, you say?” Markus asked, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Yes, I can use that, oh yes I can...”

x

“Barrow Fields! Oh, thank Avo you were there to guide me through those treacherous woods safely, Hero!”

“It was no trouble,” Jack said. In spite, or perhaps because of the Bard's overly exuberant manner, the man had grown on him. “Take care of yourself.”

“Oh, I will, no fear about that! I shall take care of you too, ah, Jack. Tales of our adventure through the Darkwood will keep me fed and sheltered in Oakvale through the winter,” Markus said. “What of yourself, Hero? Do you plan on wintering in the south?”

Jack shook his head. “I'm...on a Quest. I'll be spending my winter in the southern fringes of Darkwood, where the nomad tribes roam.”

“A Quest, you say? All winter long?” Markus' nose twitched at the thought of the story to be had. “Do be sure to look me up when you wish to be further immortalised in song, Hero! Farewell for now!”

Jack raised his arm in farewell as Markus hoisted his pack and strode off across the fields that surrounded his childhood home. It had taken them a week to make it through the Darkwood, but Jack had no appetite for the comforts of civilisation just yet. He turned back towards the forest he had just left. Somewhere out there, in the more habitable southern fringe, someone knew something that would help him discover the ultimate fate of his sister.

Avo have mercy on any who had harmed her, because he wouldn't.


	8. Oakvale

The winter was long and bitter, not merely due to the biting frost that descended upon Albion. Jack had tracked and spoken with every tribe chief, hermit, and wandering trader on Maze's list he could find, all for naught. Those who could remember the night he spoke of had nothing more to offer than the testimony they had given Maze, now dulled by time. It was with a heavy and bitter heart that he acknowledged the stirring of spring that would make his already difficult search nigh on futile. It was time to turn towards civilisation for the first time in months. It was time to turn for Oakvale. 

X

The approach to Oakvale was just as Jack remembered it. A flash of movement from off the path drew his eye, and he saw the ghost of a young boy, hiding in the fields as bandits raped and pillaged his home. He blinked and the boy was gone.

A wooden walkway stretched over the path; Jack saw flames licking at its roof and the tavern keeper's wife hanging naked and bloody from its supports. He shook the image from his mind and passed beneath it. A shiver crawled down his spine. 

The village itself loomed large before him now, a spectre of his past brought to life. The village centre bustled ahead of him, and a gaggle of children streamed past, intent on a day of fun at Barrow Fields. Red hair streamed behind one of them; a girl. Jack had had a friend who looked just like her. She had been taken as a plaything by a trio of bandits during the raid and the screams they had pried from her lips still featured in his nightmares. The village burned around him, and he gripped his sword tightly. Jack sank heavily onto a bench that was sat against the large tree in the village centre, ignoring the Blue Guard that was watching him suspiciously. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe steadily, banishing the memories from his mind. He was no longer a helpless child, and his memories would not control him. He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. 

The tavern lay before him, a hub of activity in the town, its doors swinging constantly. Jack rose to his feet and crossed the threshold, stepping to the side and out of the way of the foot traffic. The tavern was well lit, light streaming in from several high windows sat amongst the rafters. The circular tables that covered the floor were mostly occupied; what appeared to be a dock crew was breaking for lunch. 

His entrance heralded a still in conversation as the tavern occupants gave the travel worn stranger a once over, but their interest was brief. Without expensive arms and armour or great renown, he was just another sell sword. He made a beeline for the only unoccupied table, half shadowed in the corner. He had been living off game for months. It was time for a proper meal. 

Pie was obtained then devoured in short order. He was cleaning the last crumbs from his plate when a figure detached itself from the bar to approach his table. It was a young woman with brunette hair and a lithe build. Her features held a ring of familiarity, but for the life of him, Jack could not place her. She wore simple homespun clothes, but she took a seat at his table like she was owed it. She met his stare evenly.

“Can I help you?” Jack said at length. 

“Jack Bromsson?” she asked.

Jack leaned back in his chair, caught entirely off guard. He hadn't spoken his full name since the night of the raid. Not even Maze knew of it.

The woman smiled at his reaction. It was a sad smile. “I thought so. You don't remember me, do you?”

“No,” Jack said, his tone short.

“You rescued my bear, Rosie, from Elliot on the day of the raid,” she said.

Jack thought back, the memories coming easier than he would have liked. “Elliot...he was the bully. Your name is Lily. You had a younger brother.”

“Elliot saved my life, you know,” Lily told him conversationally, like they were talking about the weather. “Hid me under my parents' bodies and drew some bandits away when they got close. He didn't get terribly far. I thought I was the only child who survived the raid.”

“A Hero rescued me just as a bandit found me,” Jack said. “He got me out of the village. The raid was over at that point.” He didn't feel any of his usual reluctance to speak about the night his home was destroyed. It was...liberating.

Lily eyed the bracers Jack had discarded to eat, and the sword resting against the table. “Little Jack grew up and became a Hero, didn't he?” she asked. Her brown eyes sparkled with humour. 

Little Lily. That was what he had called her, Jack remembered with a start. “Always said I would, didn't I? And I was always bigger and tougher than you, so cut out the little stuff...Little Lily.”

Lily poked her tongue out at him through cute pink lips. “Bigger and uglier, more like. Don't know about tougher.”

A startled laugh escaped him. Hadn't they been talking about the raid that killed their families and destroyed their home a moment ago? “Where have you been living?” he asked. 

“All over. A traveller took me in and looked after me. Taught me how to support myself,” Lily said. “I still travel with him sometimes. Was life at the Heroes Guild everything you imagined?”

“In some ways--” Jack was cut off mid sentence as one of the dock workers was pushed into the table, jostling the plates and knocking his sword over. The worker was arguing with one of his fellows and didn't seem to notice the irritation he had caused. Jack stood and pushed the man, sending him stumbling. He felt angrier than he should have, for reasons he couldn't divine. 

“Oi, what's that about?” The workers, seeing what had happened, closed ranks.

“Shove off you pillocks,” Lily said, beating Jack to the punch. “Unless you're that keen for a dust up with a Hero?”

The workers glanced at Jack, then at the sword he was picking up from the ground. There was some sheepish shuffling, and the two arguing workers were slapped over the back of the head. 

Jack shook his head, gathering his gear. Half the tavern was looking at them now. He pulled a few silvers from his money pouch and left them next to his plate, making for the door with Lily at his side. Conversation picked up in their wake. 

“Come on,” Lily said, grabbing his sleeve as they exited the building. “There's something you should see.”

X

“They call it the Memorial Garden,” Lily said, standing a few paces back from him. “It was built after the raid.”

Jack stared at the delicately designed iron gates. They were open, and had been open for so long that clumps of grass were entangling their base. He wandered through them, unsure of what awaited him. The graveyard was open, without strict structure, the opposite of the neat lines of the graveyard at the Guild. Lily tapped him on the shoulder and pointed over to a shady cul de sac, before walking off in the other direction. 

Four graves awaited Jack as he approached. They were plain, cheap, and not very well looked after. He knelt down before them, peering at the weather worn engravings. His gut clenched as he made them out. 

Brom, a woodsman. Dedicated to his family, he fell defending them. A victim of The Burning of Oakvale.

Charlotte, wife and warrior. She fell as she avenged her husband. A victim of The Burning of Oakvale.

Theresa, clever and warm, her potential cut short. A victim of The Burning of Oakvale.

Jack, curious and friendly, his dreams of adventure remain dreams. A victim of The Burning of Oakvale.

Fire sparked in Jack's hand as he ran it over the tombstones of his parents and sister, scorching the lichen and moss from their surfaces. He felt...cold. The graves of his family, himself included, lay before him, forgotten and unremarked upon by the world at large. He tried to summon the anger that had lurked within reach since the raid all those years ago, but found only cold. 

He sat before the graves for a long time.

X

Jack returned to the graveyard entrance where Lily was waiting for him, having already paid her own respects. She saw the frown on his face but made no mention of it as they passed back through the wrought iron gates. Jack felt at odd ends—he had no idea what one did after visiting the graves of family. Seeing his own tombstone next to the stone of his sister did nothing to help matters. 

“I like to walk along the beach after I visit my parents,” Lily said. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes,” Jack said before even really considering the offer. He had still been deemed too young to follow the beach past the village boundaries before the day of the raid. 

They walked through the back lanes of the village, and it was easy to see them overlapping the lanes of their childhood; they had been rebuilt so similarly. The village centre was a little busier now in the early afternoon, and Jack's weapons and armour drew some stares. One old timer with ferociously bristly white eyebrows didn't take his eyes off him until they left his line of sight. 

A schooner was just pulling up to the dock as they came to the beach, waiting to be loaded up with produce from the bread basin of Barrow Fields. Children swam and played amongst the pillars of the pier. Jack and Lily turned west, leaving the village behind them in short order, following a path through grassy sand dunes. It appeared infrequently travelled, and after some time on it, Jack did not doubt they were the only souls for miles. 

The isolation was nothing new for Jack, not after his time searching the Darkwood, but having someone beside him made it different, more intimate. He was keenly aware of Lily's presence at his side, and the shine of her hair in the sunlight, so when she turned off the faint trail for the waterline, he was already turning with her. The beach was sheltered on one wide by a tall cliff and on the other by the sand dunes they had just walked along. The afternoon sun warmed them pleasantly in the early spring coolness. 

“I'm going for a swim. Are you going to join me?” Lily said, looking back over her shoulder at him.

“You don't have any spare—oh,” Jack said, as he was introduced to the sight of her bare back. He swallowed. 

Lily smiled at him, every inch of it mischievous, and stepped out of her trousers, walking to the water line in aught but her small clothes. Those too were abandoned as she wet her toes in the surf, wind caressing her skin. She half turned back to where Jack was still rooted to the spot, and he caught a glimpse of a rosy nipple. She giggled at his expression. “Hurry up then!” she said, before striding into the surf and diving in. She surfaced a small way out in waist deep water. She flicked her hair from her face, unabashedly displaying her bare breasts to him. He thought she was the most lovely vision he had ever seen.

Jack was shucking his own clothes before she had finished clearing the salt from her eyes. His sword he left sticking out of the sand next to his pouch, his clothes and armour lay a trail to the water. He felt a fain trace of embarrassment as his arousal preceded him, and the knowing smirk on Lily's face told him she had noticed. He waded swiftly into the water, taking in a sharp breath at the coldness, but ignoring it for the most part. He only had eyes for Lily.

She beckoned him closer. He drew near, only for her to pull back again, deeper into the water, smirk still on her face. Jack found himself grinning as he paced forward and she drew away, still beckoning. She began to tread water and he surged forward, his height leaving the water lapping at his chest. Lily allowed his arms to close around her, smiling impishly. He paused, suddenly uncertain as to what on earth he was supposed to do next, but then she placed her arms around his neck, and raised her lips to his. His hands went instinctively to her waist, and she leaned into him. The erect tips of her breasts scraped across his chest and his grip tightened, pressing her body against his own. One hand removed itself from the back of his neck and wandered south, and Jack strangled a gasp in his throat. He returned the favour, and Lily let out a happy sigh into their kiss. 

A small wave broke against them, interrupting the moment and leaving them spluttering. Lily snorted in amusement as Jack managed to inhale seawater through his nose. She splashed more water into his face and ducked away into shallower water, backing away teasingly.

“Come on,” she said, “there's a shack just up the beach.”

“Go on then,” Jack said, his mouth moving of its own accord. “Lead the way.”

Lily splashed him again—but this time he was ready. A flex of his Will and a small pulse of force sent the water flying back into her face. As she spluttered, he lunged forward and lifted her over his shoulder, hand resting cheekily on her backside. She pounded his back, laughing, and he carried her through the surf towards the weathered shack further along the beach, pausing only to grab his pouch. The situation he had stumbled into sunk properly into his mind, and a brilliant smile crossed his face. 

Sometimes, Jack thought, it was good to be him. 

X

The lovers woke just after before dawn, but didn't leave the comfort of the bedroll until the sun had well and truly cleared the horizon. Jack found his trousers and set about making a small fire with the driftwood he found scattered along the shore. Lily watched him from the door of the shack, wrapped in his bed sheet. A hotplate was raised over the fire, and several cuts of vinegar wrapped pork were laid on. 

“There's some bread and cheese in my pouch,” Jack said absently, his eyes on the fire.

Lily quirked an eyebrow at him and rose to her feet, leaving the sheet behind. As she turned and went to retrieve his pouch, Jack's eyes tracked her progress. The sashay of her shapely backside told him that his cunning plan hadn't been quite as subtle as he had hoped, however. Still, he couldn't quite find it in himself to complain. 

When Lily joined him at the fire, she was clad in her smallclothes. She poked him in the belly as she handed him the bread and cheese, a guileless look on her face. The fare was plain but filling, and afterwards they leaned into each other companionably, enjoying the ambience of the beach. The sun was well on its way to mid-morning, and a return to Oakvale on on both their minds. Belongings were gathered, and Jack gave a great put-upon sigh as Lily slipped back into her clothes. She slapped him rump when he bent over to fasten his laces and danced away from his reaching fingers when he tried to grab her. He grinned at the challenging expression she wore and considered throwing her back over his shoulder and lingering at the beach a while longer.

It was that moment that Lily's expression changed, all merriment falling form her face as she looked past him. Jack turned, but the beach behind him was empty. Then his gaze rose to the horizon, and the pillar of black smoke rising in the distance. In the direction of Oakvale.

For a brief moment, Jack knew blind panic. Then his nerves reasserted themselves and a cold focus descended upon him. “Is the path we took here the fastest path?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lily said. She looked frustrated. “I left my weapons in my room at the tavern.”

Jack hesitated, then reached into his pouch and withdrew the simple iron sword he had left the Guild with, handing it to Lily hilt first. He knew instinctively that asking her to stay at the beach would not be received well. 

“I should be able to make it back inside ten minutes,” Jack said. 

“Then minutes?” Lily asked, eyebrows raised. “And if you have to fight when you get there?”

“I'll be fine,” he said. Strangely to Lily, he knelt down on the sand. “Go. You'll meet me there.”

Lily gave him a dubious look before taking off, jogging up into the sand dunes and out of sight. Jack felt a strange pang, and realised that he had been expecting some show of affection before she left. He shook the matter from his mind and closed his eyes. 

His time in the Darkwood searching for his sister had not seen him neglect his other goals. With no distraction and an abundance of time alone, he had been free to experiment with his Will to his heart's content. His pathways were stronger, more refined, and the brands on his palms felt more like a part of him than just marks on his skin. He could truly appreciate what a boon they were, especially when they allowed him to do things years ahead of his time – things like combining Will expressions. 

His breathing deepened, his focus sharpened, and his Will roared to life. He opened his eyes and took in the world around him. It was grey, lifeless, and almost entirely still. He rose smoothly to his feet and looked to the sky. A seagull was coasting just off the beach, wings beating impossibly slowly. The young Hero grinned and began to run. 

X

Jack slowed as he reached the village outskirts. A fire was burning within the village, and the smokestack he had sighted earlier had grown. He knelt down, slowing his breath and focusing on his heartbeat as he looked inwards to his Will. He worked at loosening the vice-like grip he had on it, prising it free like a frozen fist clenched tight around a hilt. 

When Jack released the expression, it came undone all at once. Colour rushed back into the world, and he took a gasping breath. It was well he did, as in the next instant his stomach rebelled and breakfast made an unwelcome reappearance, splattering over the grass he knelt on. He retched, clearing bile from his throat. For a moment, his vision blacked out, and he was keenly aware of the distant sound of fighting and the tang of blood on the air. 

The young Hero clambered to his feet, wiping the back of a gloved hand across his mouth even as he withdrew a Will fortifying potion from his pouch with the other. He stood on a small bluff looking down on Oakvale to the east. There were figured running to and fro along the village paths, some armed, some not. Jack drew his sword, blood pounding in his ears.

His legs ate up the remaining distance to his childhood home, and he crossed a fallow field to emerge into an empty lane on the edge of the village. The curtains of one of the houses twitched, but he ignored the village peering out from behind them. He turned for the smoke stack rising over the village. There were bandits to kill. 

There was a clash of steel on steel, and Jack quickened his pace. It had been close – he would finish the bandits and find out more about the attack from the Guards fighting them. What he was expecting, however, was not what he found. 

Two bandits lay dead upon the ground, and standing over their corpses with a bloody sword in hand was a Wiccerman. He was armoured in the same strange grey hide that all Wiccermen Jack had fought had worn, , and he regarded the young Hero with a hostile glare. He raised his bloody weapon and took a threatening step forward. 

Jack pointed at the man. Lightning crashed, thunder boomed, and the Wiccerman's corpse collapsed, charred and smoking. A feminine scream came from the next lane over, followed by further sounds of conflict. 

There was no quick way to cross the row of houses in the way, so he dropped into his wraith form and rushed straight through them, arriving right in the middle of a skirmish. A pair of Wiccermen were facing off against two bandits, and he allowed their weapons to pass through him harmlessly. Then he noticed the woman shielding her teenaged daughter and younger son where they were pinned against the side of a house by the fight. He sheathed his sword and raised both hands, palms out, to either side. He dropped his wraith form, pulsing his Will in the same instance, blasting a wave of force from each hand. His foes were knocked from their feet, and the young family seized the chance to get to safety, the mother shooting him a look filled with gratitude as she hurried past.

Jack redrew his sword and beckoned mockingly to the four men just getting to their feet. The Wiccermen rushed him, and Jack darted forward to meet them. He ignored the axe coming down for his neck, his blade finding its owners throat. The axe passed through his suddenly insubstantial form, and he stepped through the dying Wiccerman to get at his fellow. The man paled at the sight of his glowing blue form, but managed to parry his first flurry of blows. Jack lashed out with his free hand, open palmed, and a narrow cone of force blasted forth. The Wiccerman was knocked sideways like a ragdoll. His neck twisted at a sick angle as he landed, and he did not get up. 

The young Hero turned to face the two bandits who still stood where they had gotten back to their feet after being thrown. Their weapons were drawn, but they made no move to attack. Jack conjured a crackling ring of lightning in his gloved hand, and the bandits exchanged a glance. A moment later, they turned tail and fled. 

Jack watched them flee, surprise allowing the lightning to fade from his hand. He briefly considered striking them down, but found the thought distasteful, even against his hatred of bandits. 

A nearby door creaked open, and the woman who Jack had just rescued poked her head out. 

“Thank you,” the blonde woman said. “You saved my children's lives, Hero.”

“You're, er, welcome,” Jack said. He scratched the back of his neck. “What's happening here? Where are the Guards?”

“Still in the village centre. A lot of people were caught in the tavern when the attack started,” she said.

“Why did they turn on each other?” he asked. He could hear the clamour of battle drifting over the village.

“They didn't! The bandits ran into town just as that strange ship arrived, but they weren't raiding – most of them, anyway,” she said with a bitter twist to her mouth. “I think I saw Twinblade, the leader of the bandits, and he took the fight straight to the ship that burnt out the dock.”

“The bandits are defending Oakvale from the Wiccermen?” Jack asked, astonished.

“For now. Those bastards have been raiding us for far too long for me to trust anything they do.”

“They won't be raiding anyone today,” Jack said. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

“Good luck, Hero,” the woman said. “Beware Twinblade. The man has a thirst for blood.”

Jack nodded his acknowledgement and started for the village centre as the woman slipped back inside her house. She offered up a quick prayer to Avo for the young man. He would need it.

X

The centre of Oakvale was a study in mayhem. The general store and the dock were burning. A thin line of Guards were arrayed along the front of the tavern, defending the villagers trapped inside, as a swarming crowd of bodies seethed and pulsed against them. Bandits and Wiccermen struggled against one another, and their blood stained the earth red. The bandits outnumbered the raiders in fighters – but also in corpses on the ground. The candle of his rage began to burn brighter.

Jack caught sight of a giant of a man who could only be Twinblade in the centre of the melee, his enormous blades cutting a bloody swathe through the raiders as well as the occasional unlucky bandit. His swings had torn great chunks from the tree, generations old, that marked the centre of the village. The giant's scarred visage roared with delight as he fought, his braided goatee splattered with blood. Jack reckoned him to be a head taller than Duran and twice as wide. 

A flash of red hair caught Jack's eye. A small slip of a woman was dancing through the mass of fighters, wielding a sword similar to his own. She wore a red top with no sleeves and a dress slit to just above her knee, but it didn't seem to impede her ability to cut a Wiccerman from throat to groin at all. She stopped in her tracks as the battle lulled around her, and seemed to look right at him – but that was impossible, as a band of cloth was wrapped around her head, covering her eyes. The moment passed, and she danced away again, blade flashing. 

One of the Guards, a Blue, took a blow to his shoulder and was pulled back to safety by his fellows. Villagers emerged from the tavern to carry him inside and the remaining Guards spread out, but their line was beginning to strain under the pressure. If they broke, the tavern and all inside would be reduce to the same state as the store, a burning wreck. 

Jack's Will thrummed in reaction to his anger, and his form flared blue. He blurred across the square towards the tavern, coming to a stop behind the Guards. He raised a clenched fist and summoned lightning. It boomed again and again, chaining between Wiccerman and bandit alike as he cleared a space in front of the tavern. The stench of ozone and burnt flesh forced the Guards back, and they fell in behind him. The lightning ceased suddenly, and eyes across the square turned to the glowing ethereal form of the Hero standing before the tavern. His ghost-like form became solid once more and he stepped forward onto the carpet of corpses he had created. A rumbling snarl broke the silence of the square, and many of the men present would have sworn it came from the sword the Hero was holding at the ready. The Guards formed up behind Jack, morale rising. They braced themselves. Skorm would have his glut today. 

Jack pointed, lightning crashed, a Wiccerman died, and battle was joined once more. He charged into the chaos, a red haze descending upon his vision as he vented his fury at both this attack and the raid of his childhood that had cast such a pall over his life. He saw his sister, wandering the battle looking as she had on the day he had last seen her, and he surrendered to his rage completely. After that, he remembered very little. 

...his blade spilled the intestines of a Wiccerman as he lashed out with a whip of fire in his other hand, leaving horrific burns across the torso of a bandit...

...two Wiccermen charged him while his sword was stuck in the body of a bandit, and he blasted them back with a gesture and a wave of force...

...a Red Guard fell, his foes pressing in to finish him, but then Jack was there in a flare of blue, blocking their attacks and giving the Guard time to regain his feet...

...Twinblade roared to his men, ordering them to rally to him and get clear of the young Hero that was killing all that came before him, uncaring if they were Wiccermen or bandit...

...the Wiccermen were being pushed back to their longship, their dead left where they fell, as the remaining bandits pressed them on one wide while Jack and the Guards pressed the other...

...his vision turned grey and pain lanced through his chest as he raked the deck of the longship with lightning as it pulled away from the beach. He collapsed to one knee and tried to reach into his pouch for a potion, but his arm wouldn't obey him...

“Easy there, little brother.”

Laboriously, Jack raised his head. The blindfolded woman he had glimpsed earlier knelt before him. Her red hair stood out as a vibrant splash of colour in a grey world. He blinked, trying to comprehend her words. 

“Theresa.” A new voice, it sounded like a rock troll chewing gravel. The huge form it belonged to stood next to the blind woman, looking down at Jack. “What are you doing?”

“Giving a birthday present. For all the ones I've missed.”

“Theresa?” Jack asked. His voice rasped like sandpaper on stone. This woman couldn't possibly be...

“It's me, Jack. I never did get to eat that chocolate you gave me,” she said. She lay her hands on his face, feeling his features. “You look exactly as I dreamed.”

Jack struggled to raise his free hand, using his sword to support himself. His strength deserted him, and his sister-his sister-took his bare hand and raised it to her cheek. Green light shone out from between his fingers, and he could feel the same energy pulsing where her hand cupped his face. It filled his vision, building and building without clear purpose-and then his Will pathways were forced open and flooded with energy. He screamed, and Theresa screamed with him. Her eyes glowed green even through the blindfold and Jack knew his own eyes shone with the same light as it overtook his vision completely. 

Images crossed his mind's eye, incomprehensible without context; three menacing figures striding out of a great darkness, a towering spire, three heroic beings turned to stone, a sword aeons old and drenched in oceans of blood, and an Eye peering out of the dark void and into Jack's very soul.

The visions stopped, and Jack found himself standing once more. He was incredibly energised, his Will pathways coursing with power. The world was bursting with colours and smells, but Jack only had eyes for his sister. He stepped forward and enveloped her in a crushing hug, one that she returned. He felt a jolt of surprise as he realised he was taller than her. 

“I hope you're ready for the next part,” she said in a murmur as they broke apart. “Watch his blades. He's quicker with them than you might think.”

Jack turned away from the shore and the smouldering dock. The Bandit King was directing his men as they looted the bodies of the fallen. The Guards had placed themselves back in front of the tavern; they looked nervous. 

“He won't be quick enough,” Jack said.

They turned for the square, looking eerily similar as they walked in step with one hand on the hilts of their swords. Those watching, bandit and villager alike, thought about the strange green lights they had seen, the familiarity between the Hero and the bandit seeress, and they wondered. 

Twinblade stepped forward to meet them as they approached. “You didn't tell me a Guild puppet would be here, Theresa,” the ex Hero said.

“This one was always coming. Better you meet him here and now than in a years time when he leads three of his friends to our camp to slaughter all they find,” Theresa said.

“This run?” Twinblade said, running a dubious gaze over Jack. “Must have done a lot of growing in the next year.”

Jack eyed the big man, a familiar anger in his gut. It wasn't burning as hot as it once had, but it was still there, and he knew how to fight big men. 

“Bah, not matter,” Twinblade said. “There's only one more thing to sort out,” he turned to the tavern and raised his voice to a bellow, “and that's the reward for defending this pissant village!”

Villagers filtered out of the tavern, some nervous, other outraged. All were shouting, and Twinblade was forced to clash his wicked blades together to silence them. 

“Not quite the answer I was looking for,” Twinblade said, grinning widely to display blackened teeth. 

Jack tensed, and would have stepped forward but for Theresa's hand gripping his elbow. She shook her head slightly. Not yet.

“Feck off ye bastard!” An old man with ferociously bristly eyebrows shouted. “Ye already took a granddaughter from me.”

“Did she have a sister?” one bandit jeered.

The old man gave an enraged shout and started for the bandit, walking cane raised aggressively. He was held back by a Guard and a villager who might have been his son. The bandit laughed and grabbed at his crotch, gesturing obscenely.

“My boys will take their payment one way or another,” Twinblade said, enjoying the spectacle immensely. “Oakvale has burned once before, it won't be any trouble to stage a repeat performance!”

Theresa's hold on Jack disappeared, and so did he. He blurred across the square to appear before the bandit that had taunted the villager, grabbing him by the hair atop his crown. He conjured a fire in his flesh and blurred away as it took hold, coming to a stop before the Bandit King.

“Bandits burn just as easily,” Jack said, his voice heard by all, even over the screams of the burning bandit. 

Twinblade began to laugh, a low rumbling sound from deep in his gut. “The little Hero thinks he can stand against me?” he said. Despite his laughter, his eyes were cold, and he watched Jack with a predator's gaze.

“I was born here,” Jack said. “No washed up has been who couldn't hack it as a Hero is going to burn Oakvale down while I draw breath.”

Twinblade's eyes narrowed dangerously at the insult. Bandit and villager alike took a step back, and a ring formed around the two men. Jack met his foes' stare, lifting his chin in challenge.

The Bandit King clashed his blades together again. “My babies have already slaked their thirst, but I think they can still stand to fit one more morsel down!”

Jack knew that Twinblade was an opponent that put Duellist to shame, but just couldn't bring himself to care. The ex-Hero was the embodiment of the spectre that had hung over him since his family was destroyed, and now, he was going to kill him. 

“I'm going to melt your 'babies' down to scrap metal for ploughs after I kill you,” Jack said, and that was the end of civility. 

Twinblade's footsteps reverberated through the packed earth as he charged forward, swords held aloft. Jack hurled a bolt of lightning, only for it to be blocked by one of the massive blades like it was nothing. The other blade swept across, faster than it had any right to, and Jack was forced into his wraith form, lest he be cleaved in two. He shot forward and loosed another bolt of lightning at his foe's unprotected back, but the man was already turning to catch it on his blades. 

The Bandit King sneered at Jack. “You're out of your depth, boy! I'm no untrained thug, helpless before your Will.” He raised his blades over his head and drove them into the earth.

Twin furrows erupted from them, heading straight for Jack. He let them come. Spires of rock shot up from under him and would have run his through had his form been physical.

“You were saying?” Jack asked.

“Neat trick,” Twinblade said, scoffing. “What do you wager will tire first, my sword arm or your Will?”

Jack considered the question. His Will was humming through his body and eager to be unleashed, but there was no doubt Twinblade's strength would outlast it. A piece of advice both Maze and the Guildmaster had given him on separate occasions after losses to his friends came to mind – fight smarter, not harder. He grinned sheathing his sword. “Block this.” He took a deep breath. 

His Will roiled in his lungs, and he stretched his jaw wide. A torrent of fire spewed forth, and Twinblade was forced to hunker down behind his swords, making a shield out of them. Villagers cheered as Jack continued his attack until he ran out of breath. He quickly took another, but then Twinblade was in his face, having thrown himself forward the instant the flames ceased. 

Jack bent over backwards to avoid the questing tip of one blade. He felt it brush against his gorget, and he kept going, turning his bend into a flip to avoid the second blade; his Will was too entangled in the firebreathing expression to drop into his wraith form.

His flip took him right to the edge of the ring that had formed around the fight. A bandit at his back pushed him towards the charging Bandit King just as he cleared his pathways, and instead of an off balance Hero's torso, the dark blades pierced only air. 

The young Hero watched Twinblade turn towards him, face blank as he considered the newly discovered drawback of his firebreathing expression. It was the most involved expression he had aside from his wraith form and his quickening ability, and he would hesitate to use those two together. He shelved the thought for another time. 

Twinblade's face and scalp were reddened and burnt, his knuckles blistering, but his torso was untouched. Still, Jack noted the rivulets of sweat trailing down his foe. His lips twitched in satisfaction. 

“Don't know what you're smiling about, Guild puppet,” Twinblade said. “I'll have your head next time.” He pointed at his throat.

Jack frowned, feeling at his gorget. He swallowed as he realised it was cut clean through, and his hand came away smeared with the faintest hint of blood. Ignoring the cheering of the bandits, he blurred forward without warning. 

Twinblade blinked as his young foe appeared before him, sword still sheathed. He swung down, intending to split him scalp to groin, only to have a ruined gorget thrown in his face. Blinded, his blades met no resistance, and then an enormous force hit him in the back, knocking him from his feet, and one of his blades from his hand. 

Jack lunged for Twinblade's prone form, sword sweeping free with a joyous howl, and he felt the grin of a balverine settle upon his face as he went for the kill. Twinblade thwarted him at the last moment, twisting to avoid impalement. Jack's blade sunk into the earth instead, and Twinblade lashed out with a heavy boot, catching him in the gut and sending him flying. 

Gasping and wheezing for breath, Jack rose to his feet in time to see Twinblade grinning over at him as his hand fastened around the Hero's sword, still stuck in the dirt. It looked tiny in the Bandit King's massive fist, and Jack snarled at the sight. His enemy, holding his sword – the link that had formed the first time he had lifted it came roaring back to the fore, and his Will pulsed down it. 

Twinblade swore violently and flung the sword away, clutching at his scorched and blackened hand. 

“You like my sword, Bandit King?” Jack asked. He began to circle around to where his sword lay. 

“You're got some fight in you for a runt,” Twinblade said. He began to match Jack's pace. “I'm going to enjoy bleeding you dry.”

“Still think you can with only one blade?” Jack said.

Twinblade held his injured hand down at his side, trying to suppress the twitches and tremors running down it. “I don't need any blades to crush your skull, boy.” He stuck the sword he still carried into the ground and raised a meaty fist.

Jack reached his sword, and returned it to its sheath. “come on then,” he beckoned, goading the bigger man.

For a moment, Twinblade looked like he might abandon his swords and his sense – but then he snorted, grasping his sword again. “Nice try, Hero,” he said. “Want to try again?”

“Your stalling technique needs work,” Jack said, and he hurled a bolt of lightning. 

The ex-Hero blocked it, as Jack expected, but then he was inside his guard. His sword flicked up, seeking the bigger man's throat. Twinblade lashed out with his injured arm, forcing Jack into his wraith form. Jack dropped it the second the blow passed through him and stabbed forward, staying with the big man as he attempted to create space and bring his huge blade to bear.

There were a flurry of blows, neither combatant able to land a hit. Jack allowed every blow to pass through him, while Twinblade dodged and parried with an agility that his size belied. Finally, there came a blow that Jack didn't anticipate, forcing him to block the heavy strike with both hands on his sword. Twinblade grinned down at the straining Hero, putting his full weight into the struggle. 

Two things occurred to the King of Bandits at the same moment. Jack was looking at him victoriously, and one of the hands gripping his infernal sword was pointing at his heart. Sparks arced, something smote him a mighty blow upon his chest, and then he was staring up at the blue open sky, a curious ringing in his ears. He almost felt like he was floating.

Jack stared at the fallen form of his enemy, a hush falling over all present. He felt strangely empty, the sense of victory he had been expecting absent. He approached Twinblade, the thump of his footsteps loud against the silence. He looked down at the man, noting with surprise that his chest still rose and fell. A lesser man would have been killed outright.

“Whas yer name, 'ero?” Twinblade slurred, the muscles in his face stiff.

“Jack,” he told him. He knelt down at his side.

“Jack. Thas a good name,” the big man said. “End me and be done with it. I'd do the same for you.”

Jack paused for a long moment, watching him. At length, he nodded. “Thank you for saving my sister's life.”

“T'was the right thing to do,” Twinblade said. He was already fading. “Tell her I said—no, nevermind.”

“I know,” Theresa said, kneeling at his other side. She turned her face toward her brother. “Goodbye, Twinblade.”

Jack placed his hands on Twinblade's temples and focused his Will. Lightning sparked and Twinblade, Scourge of the South, breathed his last. 

The siblings rose to their feet, and Jack turned to face the bandits still standing in the village square. Some looked nervous, others angry, and all were demoralised. 

“This is the part where you run away,” Jack said, staring them down. 

The bandits shifted uneasily, trading glances amongst themselves. The surviving Guards moved up to stand at Jack's back, and a moment later were joined by the villagers who had armed themselves with everything from bottles to wooden planks. The old man of the ferociously bristly eyebrows was holding his cane menacingly. 

The bandits broke and ran.

Cheers erupted, and Jack was swarmed by grateful and awestruck villagers. Theresa had already slipped away, leaving him to the tender mercies of his newfound fans. Markus the Bard was there, strumming his lute but not even attempting to make his voice heard over the jubilation of the crowd. More villagers were streaming in from other parts of the village, their neighbours telling them the good news. Two Guards lifted him up onto their shoulders, and he nearly overbalanced in surprise. He ignored a sudden bout of nerves and raised his sword to the crowd. They let out a great cheer, seeing only the triumphant Hero and not the teenage man. Lily caught his eye from the back of the crowd and winked at him, blowing him a kiss, and he grinned. 

A great bullhorn of a voice rang out, cutting across the celebration. “Let the good Hero down you louts, there's still work to be done!”

Jack was lowered down, and the two Blue Guards threw up hasty salutes to the White Guard that had spoken.

“Sir!”

“See to our wounded, and put any surviving bandits out of their misery,” the White Guard said. He was a burly man, and had held the centre of the line that had protected the tavern wielding a wickedly sharp axe. He turned to a pair of Red Guards. “I want this village clear of corpses before nightfall.”

Jack stepped abck, allowing the Guards to carry out their tasks. The villagers milled about, the events of the morning sinking in now that their celebration had been interrupted. There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see the elder who had tried to go after a bandit with a walking cane.

“You're Jack Bromsson, aren't ye?” the elder demanded.

“I am,” Jack said. There was no point in denying it.

“I knew it!” the old man said, crowing. “I saw ye yesterday, but Mabel never believed me. I'll bet gold to coppers that that red headed lass was young Theresa! I knew some of ye had to have survived.”

“What do you mean 'some of us'?” Jack asked, tone sharp.

The old man blinked. “Well, tykes, kids. For a long time after The Burning, we didn't think a child under ten summers had survived.” He looked troubled. “Some still say they were targeted.”

Jack's jaw clenched as he thought. This was new. Maze had never mentioned other children being killed or going missing; perhaps he had never even considered them? “Barty, right? You owned the warehouse behind the tavern,” Jack asked the old man.

Barty's face crinkled with a gap-toothed grin. “That's right lad. You earned yourself a Name yet?”

Jack shook his head. 

“I wager ye will after this little outing!” he said with a cackle.

“Perhaps,” Jack said. His hopes were high despite his words. “We should organise everyone, help the Guards clear the village.”

“Right you are Jack,” Barty said. “Mabel! Agnes! Barty Jr.! Git over 'ere...”

Jack strode over to a Guard who was dragging a bandit's corpse out of the square by its feet. He took its arms, sharing the load. There were a lot of bodies to clear. 

X

“...he slaughtered the bandits, he defended the poor.  
Stood up to the King, he gave him what for.   
All Albion will know, we've got his back  
The Hero of Oakvale, the man they call Jack!”  
As the last note faded away into the evening sky, Markus bowed to the cheering crowd from atop the makeshift stage. It had been erected in the village square under the tree after all the bodies had been cleared and the blood washed away.

Seated on one of the many benches that had been brought out from the tavern, Jack buried his tomato red face in his hands. Sooner or later his friends would hear that song, and they would never let him hear the end of it. He accepted another mug of ale from another well wisher and tried to pretend he liked the taste. The next Will expression he created would be one that turned ale into something more palatable, like cat piss. Or vanished it entirely. 

The party around him was in full swing, illuminated by coloured lanterns strung from the tree to the building that surrounded the square. Not even the burnt remains of the general store were dampening the cheer. Lily was nearby, chatting amicably with a Trader called Oak. The only shadow over the evening was Theresa's absence; he hadn't seen her since she had slipped away after the battle. 

A gaggle of children ran up to him, distracting him from his thoughts.

“Show us again mister, show us again!” they chanted.

“Show you what?” Jack asked, feigning confusion.

“Magic! Magic!”

“A magic trick?” Jack asked. “But I don't have my deck of cards.”

“Not magic! Will!” One of the kids who Jack had already shown off for said impatiently. She had clearly had enough of Jack playing the straight man on the magic vs Will debate already.

Several adults drifted closer, eager to see some 'magic'. Jack held out a gloved hand and concentrated. “You mean like this?” A trio of small fireballs orbited his fist in a hypnotic display. He flicked his wrist and they shot off into the bonfire that had been built on the beach, kicking up a flurry of sparks. 

Most of the kids oohed and aahed, but the freckled girl who seemed to be their ringleader crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Show us something new!”

“Something new?” Jack mused. “You mean something like--” his form flared blue and he blurred off his seat, coming to a sudden stop right in front of them, see through grin stretched wide, “--this?”

The children screamed excitedly and scattered, each carrying an incomprehensible tale of excitement back to their parents. Jack returned to his seat in good humour. A moment later, Markus joined him. 

“Enjoying yourself, Hero?” the Bard asked as he snagged Jack's untouched ale.

“That song of yours is going to haunt me,” Jack said.

“I know,” Markus said happily. “Catchy, isn't it?”

“Too catchy,” Jack grumbled.

“Your deeds today will make you famous, you know,” Markus said. “You shouldn't have even left the Guild yet and you're already saving villagers and defeating Heroes twice your age.”

“Twinblade wasn't a Hero,” Jack said.

“But he fought like one,” Markus said. “Bards across Albion are going to be blackmailing and threatening each other to be the first to tell your story, and I've beaten them all to the punch.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I'm going to Name you, if you'll accept it.”

“If I accept it?” Jack asked. “You think the story is that big?”

“You underestimate the scourge Twinblade has been on these people. Heroes have Quested for his head before. He killed them and those that hired them,” Markus said. “You were born here, orphaned in The Burning and returned just in time to stop it happening again.”

“This story is going to make you fat and rich, isn't it?” Jack asked, amused despite himself. 

“Like you wouldn't believe, Hero. I might even make in coppers from the tavern floor what you make in gold from Quests,” Markus said, before sagging. “I just have to think of a Name. All I have for you so far is 'Ghost', but that's just so bleh.” He threw his hand against his brow dramatically. 

“Ghost? For my Will expression?” Jack asked, and Markus nodded. “My friends call it my 'wraith' form.”

Markus blinked, a slow grin starting to cover his face. “Oho. Ohohohohoho. Do excuse me, Wraith, for the great Bard Markus, first of his name, has a ballad to pen.” He jumped to his feet and rushed away, hat knocked askew on his head.

Jack glanced at the lute the brightly dressed man had left behind.

Markus came rushing back. “We are going to take care of each other very well indeed Wraith, very well indeed!”

The newly christened Wraith shook his head in amusement as the Bard sprang away once more. Wraith. He could get used to that.

It was better than Chicken Chaser, that was for sure.

X

When Jack woke the next morning, he was alone in the private inn room. Lily's comforting warmth was long gone, as were her possessions. The iron sword he had given her was leaning against the end of the bed.

He stretched, not in the most joyous of moods. They hadn't promised each other anything, but he would have liked to say goodbye. Still, it was hard to stay despondent after achieving what he had the previous day. He struggled from the bed, seeking the clothes that were strewn from doorway to bed. The mid-morning sun shone in through the open window. It was time to leave.

Only a few revellers from the previous night were up and about as Jack emerged from the tavern, the Guards amongst them. All nodded respectfully to Jack as they passed him. The respect felt nice, and he accepted it with greater ease than the adulation of the night before. The dock workers were up and staggering about, too hungover to do more than grunt at him as they tried to puzzle out how they were going to deal with the schooner anchored just off shore with a burned out dock. 

“Finally up and about brother? I see some habits never change.”

A rare open and honest smile spread across Jack's face as he turned back towards his sister. “Theresa. You disappeared yesterday.”

“The party was dull, ale is a foul drink and the Bard...well, 'The Hero of Oakvale' has some promise,” she said, a faint smirk playing on her lips. She pushed off from the tavern wall, and began to lead them down the path that would take them out of the village.

“I don't want to talk about that,” Jack said, still smiling despite his grumbles. He eyed his sister; there was a bandage on an arm that had been uninjured the last he saw her. “Where did you wander off to after the battle?”

“I returned to Twinblade's camp, looted it of its greatest treasures and took control of the more useful bandits who managed to survive the day.”

“'Took control of'?” Jack said. Old anger began to stir. “Theresa-”

“No Jack,” Theresa's voice cracked like a whip. They came to a stop under an overhead wooden walkway. “I was not raised in the sanctuary of the Guild. I did not have mentors and friends. I had a single protector who viewed me as a resource and an army of rapists and murderers that had to be deterred by force.”

“Then we kill them,” Jack said. The old fears and nightmares, of Theresa captured and at the mercy of bandits, threatened to surface and he forced them down.

“And where does that stop? Do we wander Albion eternally, searching for bandits to slay?” Theresa asked. “No, Jack,” she said, softer this time. “They are my tools now, and will do as I bid.” They began walking again. 

Jack blew an agitated breath out through his nose. Had this discussion taken place even two days earlier, he would have pushed the issue. The battle, and his defeat of the Bandit King and most of all his sister alive and well before him had tempered his feelings on the issue. He would never hesitate to put down a bandit that crossed his path—but no longer did he thirst for it.

A thought occurred to him. “Why do you need such tools?” he asked.

Theresa turned from him and stared out over an empty field. It was the same field he had hidden in during the raid. “Because the man who razed our home and killed our parents is still out there,” she said. She reached for the blindfold she wore, undoing the knot that held it in place.

Jack's breath caught in his throat as Theresa turned her gaze on him. A milky, sightless eye and a scarred, empty socket stared out from his sister's face. 

“He was the last thing I saw before he sliced out my eyes in front of mother. I'm going to make sure I'm the last thing he sees before I return the favour.”

“Who are they.” Jack's voice was controlled, but the pale light of his Will flickering within his eyes was not.

“You know them. They are renowned, after all.”

“Tell me their Name, Theresa.”

“He finds you when you're sleeping, and when the daylight fades. The Void is in his keeping, the one they call 'Of Blades'.”

Jack rocked back on his heels. Jack of Blades. The Reaper of Bloody Harvest. Slayer of untold numbers of monsters and Heroes. More renowned than Maze, yet less was known about him than of Scythe. He was the Hero that the people of Albion both celebrated and prayed would never turn his gaze their way.

“This won't be easy,” Jack said. His fingers beat a tattoo on the hilt of his sword. 

Theresa refastened her blindfold around her head. “Anything worth doing rarely is, little brother. But tools will make it easier.”

Jack grunted in acquiescence to her earlier point. “Allies will make it easier still.”

“Your three friends will help, but at the end of every path there is only you...and him.”

Jack eyed her, taken aback. 

“My dreams were always more than just dreams, Jack.”

Jack leaned against the field fence. “So...I have to become strong enough to defeat the Jack of Blades,” he said, trying to wrap his head around the concept. He had come across many mentions of the man in his idle research into past Heroes, but had never entertained the idea of coming into conflict with him. 

At that moment, the distant character of Jack of Blades met the nebulous driving force behind the destruction of his childhood home and became one. His heart skipped a beat and his Will went utterly, perfectly still. He let out a breath.

Jack of Blades was his enemy. Jack of Blades had killed his parents and destroyed his home. Jack of Blades would die by his hand.

Theresa watched her brother intently, unhindered by her lack of eyesight. To her senses, he blazed like the sun. 

“I'll talk to Klessan, Whisper and Duran,” he murmured. “We've been coasting, really. We can push each other harder. What will you do?”

“I have questions that need answering. Why our-” she hesitated for the briefest of moments “-village was attacked,” she said, turning away. “Search for knowledge about Him.”

“I'll ask Maze about him,” Jack said. He was starting to feel-not optimism, but not like they were faced with an impossible task, either.

“Maze?” Theresa asked, very still.

“My mentor,” Jack said. “...he saved my life after the raid and took me to the Guild.”

“Ah,” she said.

Jack fell quiet, remembering the last time he had stood beside Theresa in this spot. One of his neighbours had been killed right where he now stood. Impulsively, he wrapped his sister in a hug. “You'll travel with me through the Darkwood, at least?”

“...our paths are alone now, Jack.”

Jack took a step back and looked incredulously at his sister. “And Dad called you the sensible one.”

“I am the sensible one,” she objected, suddenly sounding a lot more like her age. 

“'Our paths are alone now Jack',” Jack mimicked. “I've spent years thinking you were dead.” You're Avo-touched if you think I'm letting you wander off into the hills.”

“You're being unreasonable,” Theresa said.

“I'm being unreasonable?” Jack said. He raised his eyebrows.

Theresa crossed her arms.

A thought occurred to Jack, and he grinned deviously. He reached into his enchanted pouch, rummaging around for what he sought without taking his gaze form his sister. He had been saving this for a special occasion. 

Theresa stiffened as she realised what Jack had withdrawn from his pouch. Rustling baking paper, the pull of a ribbon being untied, and then the unmistakable scent of chocolate wafted past her nose.

“Mmmm,” Jack said, chewing slowly on a small piece of chocolate. 

“You ass,” Theresa said. “Give.” She held out an expectant hand.

“I dunno, sis,” he said. “I couldn't share my stash with just any--”

Theresa lunged forward, outstretched hands seeking her prize. Her little brother knew not what he had unleashed. 

Jack squawked in alarm as she barrelled into him. This was not at all what he had planned. 

X

A short time later, the two siblings departed Oakvale, heading for Barrow Fields, and beyond that, the Darkwood. They were in high spirits, and each held half of a block of chocolate in the tattered remains of its wrapping. Reunited at last, their goal was clear. Jack of Blades would know fear when they came for him. 

To the south, miles off shore, a longship filled with battered and wounded Wiccermen was limping towards home. They carried tales of the glowing trickster demon of legend, and of the fertile land he protected. The masked man cowled in red had lied. This far away land held far more worth taking than a single fortress, and take it they would. For their Lords. For their Gods. 

For the Void.

X x X

Elsewhere across the sea on an untamed island known as Witchwood, a sleepy hamlet was stirring, smokestacks rising high above the evergreens that towered around it. High in one of those trees, a great beast looked down on the village, knife-like claws sunk deep into the wood to keep itself in place. White fur rustled in the breeze, and steaming breath fogged the air before its powerful jaws. Its stomach rumbled. After a long hibernation, it was time to feed.


	9. Reunion

Spring bloom had well and truly taken root as Jack approached the walls of Bowerstone. The spring equinox and Avossuns Day were just around the corner, and the town was already preparing for the festival. The normally sober grey stone walls had been painted a riot of colours and floral designs by the townspeople on Lady Grey’s coin. The bridge leading to the main gates was festooned with flowering vines and Jack felt the scent and cheer of the upcoming celebration raising his own spirits for the first time in a long time. His birthday fell on Avossuns Day, and this year, he had a present from his sister waiting to be opened. Thinking of the small wrapped object in his pouch only served to raise his spirits higher, and so it was with a broad grin on his face that Jack approached the Guards at the gates of Bowerstone.

A familiar face greeted him. “Ah, Hiroo. See yer beck,” the Black Guard said, accent as thick as Jack remembered.

“Lieutenant Karl, right?” Jack said, half guessing.

“Tha’s ray,” Karl said. “Didnae spect grae Hiroo tae memer.”

Jack looked at the elder blankly. “Excuse me?”

Karl chuckled and leaned into the sword he used as a cane. “Nae mind. Ye know the drill. Weepons, nae magic, kep the pess,” he said, speaking slower.

Jack lay a gloved hand on the hilt of his sword, fully understanding Duran’s reluctance to surrender his hammer on their last visit to the city. Reluctantly, he undid the belt that his sword was fastened to and handed it over.

The Black Guard accepted the sword, taking it by the sheath. He turned back for the Guardhouse, waving the Hero towards the gates. “Tek ker, Wraith.”

Jack stood a little straighter, his grin returning. He hadn’t known Markus’ tale had spread all the way to Bowerstone. He could only hope that Skorm cursed song hadn’t come with it. Bad enough it had rapidly become a favourite south of the Darkwood; if he had to sit through it in the taverns of Bowerstone he would have to seriously consider never showing his face again.

He passed through the heavy open gates and under the wall, and whatever spell that blocked his connection to his Will took hold. He grimaced at the unpleasant sensation and tried to put it from his mind, with little success. The last few months, first during his winter search through the Darkwood and then his slow journey north with his sister, had given him many spare hours to play with his Will, and now he had nothing-even the connection to his sword that was always at the back of his mind had been taken away.

Jack made his way along the paved road that led from the main gates to the gates of Bowerstone North - not that the Guards there would grant him entry. Small time Traders and vendors hawked their wares at the stalls that lined the road, but few called out to him, the disgruntled look on his face perhaps warning them away. Turning from the paved road, he made for the tavern that he and Duran stayed at on their previous visit.

The tavern’s entrance was on one of the roughly cobbled side streets, part of the tall rows of buildings that made up the less affluent part of town. With outward growth limited by the walls, the buildings naturally grew upwards, few less than three stories tall. They crowded together, making the already narrow streets feel even more cramped. The closed in feeling wasn’t helped by the unusual amount of foot traffic heading for the tavern at the moment, either. The doors proclaiming it to be ‘The Blue Moon’ were in almost constant motion as people entered and left despite having no apparent need to be there.

Even without his sword, the armour he wore marked him as a Hero, and the other pedestrians moved around him as he entered the tavern. The ground floor was one open space save for the supporting beams; a bar and kitchen area was closed off at the back wall. Round tables were set about the place and most were full of men nursing ale and mead as if the drink were their newborn child. A small crowd was clustered around one of the corner booths, but the object of their interest was blocked from view.

Jack approached the barkeep, reaching for his money pouch. A messy sign above the bar read ‘PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY’ in blocky letters. The man was busy, as it seemed that every new arrival bought a cheap drink before finding a seat to do nothing in particular. After a short wait, the man turned to him.

“Ale?” the barkeep asked, already holding a mug under a keg. He was middle aged, with a balding head and the beginnings of a gut beneath his leather apron.

“No thanks,” Jack answered quickly. His mouth soured at the thought of the drink. “Are there any rooms free?”

“We have private rooms, but no dorms,” the barkeep said.

“I’ll take a private room,” Jack said, counting out silver coins. “Prices haven’t changed recently?”

“Still twenty silver a night,” the man said. He took the coins offered. “I’ll have my serving girl show you your room. MAISY!”

There was a clatter from the kitchen area, and a girl of about thirteen summers appeared from behind the dividing wall, wiping flour covered hands on her apron.

“Take our customer to the fourth floor corner room,” the balding man said. “And don’t dawdle, we’re still behind on prep thanks to this business.” He jerked his head at the crowd occupying the tavern, attention already turned to the next customer.

Maisy curtseyed in her grey dress and turned for a steep set of stairs at the other end of the bar. Jack followed, curiosity over the scene in the tavern beginning to weigh on him. They reached the next floor, another open room this time lined with bunks, and turned up another steep staircase.

“Why so many people in the tavern?” Jack asked as they climbed.

“They’re here to see the Hero, sir,” Maisy said, eyes kept on the stairs before her. “She took up a booth around lunch.”

“A Hero?” Jack asked, interest piqued. “Anyone Renowned?”

“It’s Briar Rose, sir,” the serving girl said.

“Ah,” Jack said. Briar Rose was a Name known across Albion, the woman having Quested across the land for almost fifteen years now. Rumour said she had been sponsored by the famous Scarlet Robe; and he had long admired her penchant for completing Quests through skill and trickery.

“Are you not a Hero yourself, sir?” Maisy asked, glancing quickly over her shoulder.

“I am,” Jack said. Pride rose within him, just as it had on his first day, and as it would for many to come.

“Your Name, sir?” Maisy said, almost squeaking.

Jack grinned. “My name is Jack, but my Name is Wraith.”

Maisy whirled around as she reached the top of the stairs, looking at him eye to eye. “Oooh! You defeated Twinblade the Bandit King! You’re one of the youngest graduates in fifty years and you still graduated ahead of your class! Maze himself sponsored you!” She let out a squeal.

Jack almost took a step back he was so alarmed by her intensity. “Uh…”

“You’re my favourite Hero!” Maisy said.

“Really?” Jack said, grin returning.

“Yep! My sister Daisy teases me for liking such a new Hero but she likes Warlock and he’s a bad Hero so what she thinks doesn’t count.”

“I fought one of Warlock’s friends a few months ago,” Jack confided in his fan.

“Who was it?” Maisy asked. “Was it Druid or Ironsides or Duellist or--”

“Duellist. He beat me in a sword fight, so I zapped him with lightning,” Jack said. After the attack on Badger, he had paid attention to any gossip he overheard about the man.

“Ooh. They fought in the Arena last winter! I never knew you’d fought Duellist, and I know all about you!”

Jack smiled weakly. “That’s...good to hear?”

Maisy beamed. “This is so exciting! Daisy will be green with envy,” she chattered on as she turned the resumed leading Jack to his room. “She hasn’t even seen Warlock.”

Jack’s floor was higher still, and his room was at the end of a narrow hallway. It had a small window overlooking the street, for what little view it afforded him. He gave the simple room a cursory glance; he wouldn’t be spending more than the night in it if all went to plan.

“If there is anything you need just ask me,” Missy said. She curtseyed once more before practically skipping away.

Jack took up the key she had left in the door, and removed the few pieces of armour he wore, depositing them in his pouch. It was still several hours until dusk, and the time would pass all too slowly cooped up in the small room. Perhaps he would take a late lunch in the tavern. Not to crowd around Briar Rose like the rest of the slack jawed townspeople, of course. Just to eat.

X

Jack sat in a corner of the tavern, a table to himself. The number of men nursing cups had dwindled, but there was still a small gaggle gathered around the booth that Briar occupied. He caught a glimpse of the woman from time to time, but only by chance. He focused studiously on the remainder of the pie before him.

Maisy fluttered over to his table, bearing a pitcher of Orchard Farm apple juice to refill his cup. He had tipped her a silver piece earlier and she had taken it as an excuse to wait on him near hand and foot. It was flattering, if a little uncomfortable.

He glanced over at the occupied corner booth again, and found Briar Rose looking back. He started, and she smirked at him over the round lenses of the glasses she wore perched on her nose. She beckoned to him. He almost glanced back over his shoulder, but remembered his back was to the wall. Swallowing down the last spoonful of pie, he stood and made his way over.

The fans crowding around her booth parted as he approached, looking between them like they were a spectacle at a fair.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you glancing over here, young Hero,” Briar Rose said by way of introduction. A red bandanna kept her hair from her eyes. “Yearning from afar?”

Jack almost choked, painfully aware of the people watching them talk with rapt attention.

Briar’s smirk deepened. “If you wanted to admire my trophies, all you had to do was ask.” She gestured to the collection of objects set out on the table before her.

It was going to be like that, then. Despite the free chairs at the table, Briar’s audience had remained standing, and Jack took a seat directly across from her, not caring to wait for an invitation he could sense was not coming. Deliberately, he held her gaze.

“I was just comparing them to my own--” Jack broke off, distracted from his rejoinder by one of her trophies. “Is that a shrunken Trader’s head?”

“Why yes, it is,” Briar said, looking incredibly pleased. “He didn’t understand that people aren’t a commodity to be traded. I had to educate him.”

Impressed noises came from their spectators, and their attention shifted to Jack.

“I’m just surprised you carry your severed heads around with you,” Jack said.

“Trophies are meant to be shown off, little Hero,” Briar said. “Have you taken one of your own yet? A hobbe, or perhaps a bandit?” She leaned back into her booth, bare arms stretched out to either side.

“A balverine, actually,” Jack said. “Not the largest I slew, but I took its head with a single blow, so…” he shrugged.

“Fresh out of the Guild, already hitting nasties with sharp things,” Briar said. “It warms my heart. I didn’t slay my first white balverine until I was a few years out. Its pelt makes a wonderful winter coat.” Her eyes glittered, anticipatory.

“It wasn’t a white balverine,” Jack said, smile slipping.

“Ah, you’ll get there,” Briar said. “These things take time.”

Jack scowled, internally, but he had a feeling Briar saw it. “My friend and I put down a rock troll, our first week as Heroes,” he said, reaching into his pouch. He pulled out a small vial, full of red shards. “I blasted one eye with lightning, and the splinters had to be pulled from my face.”

Their spectators oohed, and this time it was Briar they looked to for a response.

“I once tricked a pair of rock trolls into attacking each other,” Briar said. She flicked her hair away from her ears, revealing a pair of sapphire studded earrings. “Turned their eyes into jewellery. Didn’t get a scratch on me.”

“I got a scratch on me, my last Quest,” Jack said. He lifted his chin, drawing attention to the faintest white line just below his adams apple. “It’s the only mark Twinblade the Bandit King made on me before I killed him.” Smirking, he slapped a heavy metal token embossed with a bandanna wearing skull down on the table.

Their spectators started whispering to each other, the word ‘Wraith’ bandied about.

Briar let out a low, impressed whistle, before laughing. “Nice one, kid. I’ll give you this one; I haven’t done anything nearly as impressive recently.” She reached into a pocket on the leather jacket discarded beside her, and flicked something towards him.

Jack caught it reflexively, opening his hand to find a single gold coin. He looked at it in surprise.

“Alright boys, show’s over,” Briar said. “Time to leave us in peace and go do...whatever it is you should be doing that isn’t here.”

The small crowd filtered away, talking avidly amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to care that they had just been dismissed like unruly children.

“I had a feeling about you,” Briar said, completely at ease with her ‘loss’. She took her glasses from her nose and place them in a pouch, out of the way. “But it’s hard to tell with you newcomers. None of you have picked up any identifiers yet.”

“What, like your leather?” Jack asked before he could think.

“Yeah, like that,” Briar said, unphased. “If it weren’t for those gloves of yours I wouldn’t have twigged and invited you for a boast.”

“My gloves?”

“Yeah. You burn your hands or something, Will experiment gone wrong?”

“Or something,” Jack said, and Briar snorted. “What’d you mean by a boast?”

“You hadn’t come across one yet?” Briar asked, eyebrows rising. “Thought you seemed a little prickly to begin.”

“Yes, well…”

“No fear,” Briar said, flicking one hand in dismissal. “I don’t have to explain the point behind it to you though, do I?”

“I’m not that fresh,” Jack said, crossing his arms.

“Good,” Briar said, taking a sip of her drink. “Just don’t be getting cocky. Any Hero who has been doing this as long as I have will have three stories just as impressive as your Bandit King one.”

Jack nodded. It was good advice, but he wasn’t sure how he felt taking instruction from someone who wasn’t Maze or the Guildmaster. He rolled his shoulders, self conscious, as he noticed Briar staring at him intently. She was frowning. “Is there something on my face?”

“It’s nothing; don’t fret your pretty little head about it,” she said. She began to pack her trophies away.

Jack raised a disgruntled eyebrow that Briar ignored completely. He made to rise and return to his own table when a wild thought struck him. “Say you had to kill a Hero many  
times stronger than yourself,” he said suddenly. “How would you go about doing it?”

Briar blinked at him, pausing with the shrunken Trader’s head in one hand. “Don’t you already know the answer to that one?”

“More powerful than Twinblade,” Jack said. “Much more powerful.”

“Shoot them in the back when they aren’t looking,” she said, shrugging. She tossed the head negligently into her duffel, before peering at him with a frown on her face. “Why? Thinking of trying your hand at headhunting?”

“No, nothing like that,” Jack said. “Just an idle thought.”

“Voice idle thoughts like that around the wrong Hero and you’ll know about it,” Briar warned. She stowed the last of her trophies and downed the last of her drink. Inspecting him one last time, she stood and shrugged her jacket on. “Avo, you’re fresh,” she said, and shook her head.

Jack watched, expression mulish, as Briar Rose departed, apparently deeming her words a sufficient farewell. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever meet a senior Hero that didn’t rub him the wrong way in some manner, his mentors aside.

Klessan’s brother had been right though. She did wear those leather pants of her marvellously well.

X 

Jack whittled away the hours on the tavern floor, left alone at the table in the corner he had claimed for himself. With Briar long gone, the gawkers had followed, and the only patrons besides himself were the dock workers who had finished at the quay and headed straight for the pub. Maisy brought him the occasional drink as he pored over Maze’s book; he was nearly finished. The archmage’s thoughts on spell creation were fascinating. 

The tavern doors were flung open and a familiar woman stepped through, arms raised in victory. “Firs--oof!” She was flung forward onto the floor as a heavy weight collided with her back. 

The ‘heavy weight’ panted happily, drooling onto the back of the woman’s head as it lay on her. Another familiar figure stepped through the door, scratching the shaggy dog’s ears as he passed. It looked to be an indeterminate mix of breeds, covered in coarse hair and perpetually eager.

“First,” Duran announced as he stepped over the dog. “Good boy.”

“Still beat you,” the woman’s muffled voice protested from where she was pinned.

The dog wagged its tail.

“And yet, here I am sitting down with Jack while you’re laying on the floor,” Duran said as he approached the table. The wooden floor vibrated under his footsteps.

“He has a point, Klessan,” Jack said. He rose to meet his friend and they exchanged a brief one armed hug, slapping each other on the back.

“Jack?” Klessan said. She raised her head, squinting towards him. A wide smile broke out across her face, stretching the scar on her cheek. She twisted easily out from under the dog and sprang to her feet, bounding over to join them. The dog gave a mournful sort of huff as it got up to follow, and Jack was wrapped in a crushing hug. “You never Seal-talked me, how have you been, do you have any new scars? When is Whisper due to arrive?”

Jack took a step back at the barrage, and Duran laughed. “Uhh. Good. Yes. I don’t know,” he said. 

“Told you he’d get more,” Duran said.

“At least tell me what you’ve been up to since we last met,” Klessan ignored Duran, plonking herself down in a chair. “Any exciting news?”

“Yes,” Jack said. He took a sip of his drink to hide his smile. 

“Well?” Klessan asked, impatient. The dog nosed at her knee, then settled itself down between her and Duran.

“I’ll tell you when Whisper gets here.”

Klessan crossed her arms with a humpf of exasperation, but Duran began to smirk and a sudden sense of foreboding settled in Jack’s gut.

Duran began to whistle a tune, a horribly recognisable tune that had haunted Jack’s footsteps at every Trader camp he had stopped at on his way from Oakvale to Bowerstone.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head in denial. “Just no.”

“...he slaughtered the bandits, he defended the poor! Stood up to the King, he gave him what for!” Duran sang, horribly off key.

“Shut up Duran,” Jack said urgently. He shot a nervous look around the tavern. This was just the place that would take up the song and sing it to death and then bring it back for a rousing encore.

A look of glee was dawning across Klessan’s face. “Oh Avo that’s awful,” she said. “I love it. You have to teach me all the words Duran.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jack said, but the dreadlocked man just smirked at him.

“What did you do to get a song written about you?” Klessan asked.

“I killed Twinblade, the ex Hero Bandit King,” Jack said proudly.

Klessan let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “Nice one, Jack.”

“It’s ‘Wraith’ now, actually,” Jack said, smirking at his friends. “But don’t worry, I’ll still let you call me Jack.”

Duran inclined his head mockingly, and Klessan pursed her lips, pretending to think.

“It’s not bad as Names go, not bad at all..but it’s not quite as amazing as something like Whiplash either,” she said, leaning back in her chair to wait for their reactions.

Duran was the first to catch on. “You earned a Name?” he asked, dismayed. “You didn’t say a thing.”

“How’d you earn it?” Jack asked, leaning forward with interest. He looked over to the bar, catching Maisy’s eye. He pointed at his friends, miming a drinking action, and she nodded.

“Ma and I were on a run to one of those big name horse breeders who maintain the trade fair near Naiad Lake when these real cloak and dagger types tried to make off with their prize stallion,” Klessan said. “I rustled them in the middle of it and chased them off.”

“That earned you a Name?” Duran asked, surprised. Jack shared the sentiment.

Klessan shook her head. “The breeder hired me to find out who sent them. I tracked them to a rival of the breeder...and then I stole their prize stallion.”

“Wait,” Jack said, frowning. “Are you the girl who rode the bloodline stallion through the middle of the Naiad trade fair with thirty hired hands chasing her?”

Klessan snorted. “Maybe ten, at most. But yeah, let’s go with thirty.”

Maisy arrived with their drinks and a bowl of nuts, leaving them with a curtsy. Duran took a swig immediately, while Klessan sniffed hers first.

“This is terrible,” Duran said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I can’t believe I’m the last one to earn a Name.”

“We don’t know if Whisper has one yet,” Jack said.

“‘Whisper’ is her Hero Name,” Duran said dismissively. “I will not allow this to stand,” he added, stamping his foot and raising his eyes skyward.

Klessan flicked a nut at him, hitting him square between the eyes. “Stop sulking, big man. You’ll get your Name.”

“I was thinking, actually,” Jack said, “that seeing as how we’re all going to be together, we might as well take a Quest together.”

Duran peered at him. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Jack protested.

“He’s definitely up to something,” Klessan said, turning to peer at him as well.

“You’re right. I plan to challenge Jack of Blades to a death match and I want you guys to back me up,” Jack said, tone dry.

“Fine then, don’t tell us,” Klessan said, rolling her eyes. 

“Do you know when Whisper is due to arrive?” Duran asked. “Or where she plans to stay?”

Jack shrugged. “I thought she would be here before us, and I’m not sure. Which inn are you two staying at?”

“Hero’s Rest,” Duran said. 

“Overpriced shanty,” Jack said.

“Yes, the best inn in Bowerstone South is a shanty,” Duran said. “You’re just mad because you couldn’t argue them down on prices last time we were here.”

“I overheard some Traders saying Briar Rose was here,” Klessan said. “Did you see her, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she asked impatiently.

“Your brother was right about her leather pants,” Jack said.

Klessan pulled a face. “Ass,” she said. “I dare you to say that to her face.”

Duran snorted. “She’d kick his arse.”

“Probably,” Jack said.

The tavern doors swung open, and a dark skinned woman clad in blues and light chain stepped through. Whisper had arrived, and she wasted no time in staggering over to their table to sink into a seat, setting her travel pack down with a thud. She was breathing heavily.

The three of them eyed their friend, and the veil she wore drawn across her face from the nose down.

“New look, Wisp?” Jack asked.

Whisper unhooked the veil from where it was tied to her hat, revealing her face. Her eyes were red rimmed and streaming, her nose was swollen and dripping, and her mouth was set in a thin, displeased line. “I loathe the spring festival with the fury of a raging kraken,” she said. Her words were diminished by the nasal tone her blocked nose imposed upon them.

“Wow,” Klessan said. “You look horrible.”

Whisper turned her eyes on her friend, attempting to scowl, but Klessan grinned unrepentantly. 

“If we left Bowerstone, I could take a look at it?” Duran offered, wiggling his fingers.

“Yes,” Whisper said. But she made no effort to rise from her seat.

Maisy arrived with another drink, having seen Whisper join them, but stopped in her tracks upon seeing her face. She gave a startled ‘oh’ and rushed back to the kitchen.

“Scaring the serving girls, are we?” Klessan said.

Whisper gave a huff, and Maisy returned with a steaming mug of...something.

“What is it?” Whisper asked suspiciously.

Jack leaned in to sniff it and recoiled at the overpowering smell. His eyes watered.

“Drink it in one go; it’ll help,” Maisy said.

Whisper considered it for a moment, before taking the mug and knocking it back in three long gulps. 

The four of them watched for a long moment, waiting for Whisper’s reaction.

“Huh,” she said, eyebrows rising as her eyes stopped streaming. “I actually feel--” she blanched suddenly, rising to bolt for the washroom.

Three sets of eyes turned to Maisy.

“This is normal,” Maisy reassured them, taking the empty but still steaming mug from the table. “She’ll be hungry when she gets back.”

“What are you serving?” Duran asked, diverted by the mention of food.

“We have a roast hog just about to come off the spit,” Maisy said brightly. “If you come with me I can get you the best cuts.”

“Done,” Duran said, pulling a silver coin from nowhere and handing it to Maisy. “Come on Klessan, let’s go defend my hog. I haven’t had a roast since I left the mountains.”

Maisy had the coin tucked away in her breastband before it could even glint in the torchlight; she had probably already made more tonight than the inn paid her in a month. She led them away towards the bar, almost skipping. “So are you two friends of….”

Whatever question she asked was swallowed by the noise of the tavern, and Jack had the table to himself again, his good cheer from earlier in the day fully restored now that he was reunited with his childhood companions.

Whisper was the first to return, a slight pallor to her face but overall much improved. “Thank Avo for helpful inn girls,” she said. “That was awful.”

“You never got it that bad back at the Guild,” Jack said. 

“Back at the Guild they didn’t insist on draping every lane with flowers,” Whisper said. “Ugh. I need food.”

“There’s a roast hog; Duran and Klessan have gone to get some.”

“Good. I could eat it raw--hello, who is this?” Whisper said, looking under the table.

The dog whuffed, and Jack heard its tail beating against the floor. “He didn’t introduce himself,” he said. His sparkling wit was ignored in favour of petting the animal. “I’m not sure which of them he belongs to, actually.”

“I say Klessan. Duran would have tried to train a wolfpup.”

“What an excellent idea,” Duran said, announcing his return. “I will call it Mouse.”

Whisper gave the proclamation the attention it deserved, her eyes fixed on the plates Duran, Klessan and Maisy carried. The mountain man held two plates piled high with roast meat, vegetables, and mash potato. He set both plates down before his chair, his burden apparently all for him.

Klessan carried another two. “His name is Brute, and he’s a big puppy. He found me at the Naiad lake trade fair.” She handed one of her plates to Whisper.

Maisy brought up the rear, carrying a heaped plate that had to be nearly half as heavy as she was. Jack moved his tankard, and she placed it before him with a thunk. He reached for his coin purse, but Duran waved him off. 

“Already paid for,” the big man said. “Just add me to your tab.”

Jack nodded his thanks to Maisy, and they all fell to with an appetite earned from time on the roads. Their drinks were refreshed, and for the next short while, they focused on their meals. Cutlery clinked against plates as the dull murmur of the inn surrounded them. He might not have been nearly Duran’s size, but exercising his Will to the degree he had over the past months required fuel, and this was his first opportunity to eat to his stomach’s content since he had left Oakvale. 

At length, the Heroes had eaten their fill, mopping up the gravy soaked remnants with chunks of coarse bread. Duran had loosened his belt, and was leaning back in his chair, looking as if he might doze off, while Whisper fed Brute small tidbits. The big puppy’s tail was in danger of beating a hole in the floor. 

“Jack,” Klessan said, voice lazy in the way of all well fed teenagers. “You going to share that news of yours now?”

Jack allowed a smile to tug at his lips, anticipating a reaction. “I found my sister.”

Duran sat up like a hobbe had lit a fire under his arse. “What?!?” A surprised grin was spreading across his face.

“Jack that’s fantastic!” Klessan didn’t squeal, but it was a near thing. “Is she here with you? How is she?”

“Good for you, farmboy,” Whisper said quietly. Of all his friends, she was the one who had been woken by his nightmares in those early years at the Guild, the one came closest to knowing just what it meant to find his sister safe and well.

“She’s good. We had to go our separate ways after the Darkwood, but she is in good health,” Jack said. The memory of her sightless eyes flickered across his mind’s eye for a moment. “Or as well as can be expected,” he amended. 

“You split up? Why?” Whisper asked, frowning.

“Where was she?” Klessan added.

“We’ll be meeting up again soon,” Jack said to Whisper, realising that perhaps a busy inn wasn’t the best place to discuss the particulars of his reconnection with Theresa. “And...she was with Twinblade.”

Duran’s eyebrows rose. “You say she was in good health,” he said cautiously, a subtle question in his voice. 

Jack nodded. A year ago, the unspoken question would have sent him into a dark mood, but no more. “Twinblade had...taken her as an apprentice, of sorts,” he said. “It wasn’t an easy life, but she did well for herself.”

Klessan cocked her head, eyes searching. “Did well for herself, or did well for herself?”

Jack shrugged, uncomfortable. He hadn’t talked to Theresa about her using her gift to aid the Bandit King, and she had offered few details. “She survived.”

Klessan nodded and let the matter rest. 

“She has no issue with your victory over the man who raised her?” Whisper asked bluntly. 

“Twinblade might have saved her life, but he didn’t raise her,” Jack said, frowning. “And she always knew our meeting would end in his death.”

Whisper looked at him sharply at his words, but kept her thoughts to herself. Before Jack could do more than cock an eyebrow at her, Duran had taken up his tankard. 

“This is an occasion to be celebrated,” he declared. “To siblings, lost and found. Mountain-Father keep you both.” 

The four Heroes clinked their drinks together and knocked them back. Klessan laid a hand on Jack’s and squeezed with smile, and Whisper knocked her knee against his. Even Brute laid a shaggy head on his foot. He couldn’t tell his friends all, not here and now, but at the moment, it was enough. 

“So, when are you going to introduce me to this sister of yours?” Duran asked, interrupting the quiet moment. He waggled his eyebrows ridiculously. Klessan groaned as Whisper snorted in disgust. 

Jack threw a gravy soaked chunk of bread at him. 

X x X

Four Heroes and a dog approached the main gates of the Guild of Heroes, their shadows preceding them. They had made good time from Bowerstone, an early start and well conditioned bodies speeding them on their way. Brute bounded ahead, excited to explore somewhere new. Klessan whistled for him half heartedly, but made no move to pursue him.

“If he jumps on a Trainee he’ll break their ribs and the Guildmaster will lecture you,” Duran said.

“Brutie won’t do that, he’s a well behaved darling,” Klessan said.

“Sure he is,” Jack said. “Look ahead.” 

Klessan looked forward, to the Guild doors and the hound that had just cocked a leg against them. She wailed as the floodgates were opened. “Brute no, you pest!”

Brute’s ears flattened and his eyes grew round as his master dashed towards him, looking incredibly guilty--but he didn’t stop, either.

“I swear that dog does it to her on purpose,” Whisper said as the two boys snickered. 

They caught up quickly, just as Klessan finished ‘scolding’ Brute with a scratch behind the ears. 

“Come on,” Jack said. “I’m tired of carrying this bag around.” 

His friends rolled their eyes at him and his small pouch, reminded again of the heavy packs they carried on their shoulders. Jack and Whisper pushed through the double doors, and the Guild welcomed them home.

The Guildmaster stood in the entrance hall, waiting to greet them. “It is good to see you again, students,” he said. 

“It is good to be home, Guildmaster,” Whisper answered for them. 

“Will you be staying long?” the old man asked.

“Just the night,” Duran said, “if there are any rooms to be had. 

The Guildmaster inclined his head. “Of course.”

“Are there any quality Quest cards to be had, sir?” Klessan asked, peering down the hall towards the Map Room. 

“There are several,” the Guildmaster said. “What did you have in mind?”

Jack kept his peace as his friends quizzed their mentor, content to let them do the talking. After the long months he had put in strengthening and refining his Will pathways, the Guild suddenly felt like it had more depth, more to show him than he had been able to perceive before. It was like a half remembered tune, waxing and waning in and out of hearing, but just too slippery for his Will to come to grips with.

“-aster Jack?”

Jack started, broken from his thoughts. “Sorry, what?”

“Maze has left a message for you in his chambers, Master Jack,” the Guildmaster repeated himself. 

“Thank you,” Jack said, Klessan poking him in the ribs with her elbow. “Is he not here now?”

“He left on business in the north several days ago,” the Guildmaster said, and Jack slouched, disappointed. 

“The key to the tower,” the Guildmaster continued, offering a simple brass key from within his robes. 

Jack accepted the key and nearly dropped it; it was startlingly hot to the touch. He played hot potato with it for a few moments before thinking to draw on his Will. With a thought, the key iced over and stopped giving off heat, whatever expression of Will that had been placed on it satisfied. 

The Guildmaster’s moustache twitched in amusement as he turned to the others. “Come. I will have an Apprentice show you to your rooms, and you will tell me something of your adventures. I have heard little of you, Master Duran, up in your mountains…”

Duran scowled in embarrassment as he followed the Guildmaster deeper in the Guild. Whisper and Klessan fell in behind him, refraining from even gentle teasing. A subtle scolding from the Guildmaster was never fun. Jack left them at the Map Room, his path leading elsewhere.

X

The doors to Maze’s workspace at the top of his tower yielded to the key the Guildmaster had given him. He stepped inside, his first time without his mentor there to greet him. A spark of Will drew his attention to the heavy desk that sat before the stained glass window. There was a single page upon it, half covered in the spidery scrawl that belonged to Maze. 

‘Should you receive this missive at a reasonable hour, I have an exercise for you,’ it began. 

Jack grumbled to himself and made for the half hidden cabinet that he knew Maze kept his drinks in. If he was going to be put through another ‘learning exercise’ of Maze’s devising, he was going to treat himself. He retrieved a glass and a pitcher of the juice from the southern isles that Maze favoured and settled into one of the chairs before the desk.

‘You are to create and maintain a sympathetic connection between your Guild Seal and my own. What you use to establish the connection is up to you, and you are not to seek assistance from another.’

He frowned at the obtuse instructions, and poured himself a glass of juice. Maze’s book had attempted to trick him at times, but this was different. His frown faded as he warmed to the challenge. Klessan had contacted him through his Guild Seal just weeks after their graduation, months ago, and she had described the process. He strained his memory in an effort to remember what she had told him, but it didn’t fit with what Maze had instructed him to do. Jack drummed his fingers on the table. His mentor was teaching him sideways again, setting him up to learn two things at once. It wasn’t a bad way of teaching, but it often left him envious of the direct lessons his friends received. He was already starting to think this would be more than the work of an afternoon. With a final sigh, he buckled down and got to work. It would only be what Maze considered a reasonable hour for a few more bells, and the man could be grouchier than a drenched cat if woken. 

X

Jack had made little progress by the time evening had set in, although the task itself was becoming clearer. What Maze wanted wasn’t a simple line of communication, he had long since puzzled that out with his friends, but something more. He had worn a frustrated frown for the past half hour; the phrase ‘sympathetic connection’ niggled familiarly at his brain. He couldn’t even ask the Guildmaster about it. He glanced out the window, downing the last of his juice. 

Apprentices and Trainees were streaming back into the Guild from the training fields, seeking a bath and dinner after a hard day of study. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that his last meal had been a sandwich by the roadside. 

“Jack, it is time for dinner,” Whisper’s voice came to him through his Guild Seal, hidden under his shirt. 

He followed the line back with a thought and a tiny flicker of Will. “On my way,” he sent back, and began to tidy Maze’s desk, setting his own arms and armour to the side. 

“Guildmaster is seating us at the high table,” Whisper added, before cutting the connection.

Jack descended from the tower, mind still on his task. His legs carried him to the eating hall of their own accord, just as they had done countless times during his years living at the Guild. The halls were bustling, growing more crowded as he neared his destination. Eventually, he was forced to stop, a wall of Apprentices blocking his way just outside the eating hall.

“What’s the hold up?” he asked. 

“Olau finally had enough of Alex,” an Apprentice said, not looking back. “He laid him out-oh, the Instructors are here.” She sounded disappointed. 

Jack felt a flicker of Will and assumed the two brawlers had been separated. “Can we get moving then?” he said, hunger making him irritable. 

The Apprentice glanced back, giving him a cursory once over before looking forward again. “The servant’s entrance is to the side.”

“Excuse me?” Jack said, mouth twitching in amusement. 

The Apprentice froze, turning to look at him again, properly this time. She took in his physique, not that of a mere servant, and his travel worn clothing. Her eyes stopped on the gloves he wore and she mouthed one of the filthiest curses Jack had ever come across. “Um. I mean if you wanted to get past this mess in a hurry, you could take the servants entrance, I’m sure you know where it is-oh bollocks-I mean--”

Jack fought against the smirk he could feel forming and lost. “Don’t stress, I’ll just make my way through.”

“Of course, I’ll just--Giselle, move--”

He would have felt bad for the Apprentice if he hadn’t been so amused. “No need,” he said easily, and he brought his Will to the surface. Blue light filled the hall, and Jack stepped through the wall of bodies before him. Some shivered as he passed through them as if doused in icy water, while others didn’t notice until an ethereal limb passed through their torso. In no time he was passing the Instructor scolding the two Apprentices and in the half full hall proper. He released his Will, doing his best not to smirk at the muttering behind him, and approached the main table. 

The main table was set on a slight dais to one side of the hall, looking over the rows of tables where Trainees, Apprentices and Instructors mingled. The Guildmaster and Maze were the only two with a permanent spot, and Maze was a rare attendee. The other spaces were occupied by those invited by the Guildmaster; Trainees celebrating their birthday, Apprentices who had done exemplarily on a test, long time Instructors--visiting Heroes. Tonight, Jack’s friends occupied the seats of honour, but there were Apprentices present as well. Jack took one of the last unoccupied seats, across from his friends and the Guildmaster, his back to the hall. 

“Subtle entrance,” Whisper said from next to the Guildmaster.

“He’s such a boy,” Klessan said to the Apprentice sitting next to her. The girl was young, and looked a little starstruck. Duran just nodded to him, talking to the boy to his right who was almost as solid as he was. 

“Your time as a Hero has not helped you shake old habits, Master Jack,” the Guildmaster said dryly. 

Jack ducked his head. “I’m getting better,” he said. 

There was a clatter as a chair scraped across the stone floor and the last table guest joined them. It was the Apprentice that he had spoken with before entering the hall. Her freckles were highlighted by a blush, and she couldn’t quite meet Jack’s eyes. He recognised her in the vague way of having passed each other in the halls over the years.

“Students, this is Jack, more recently known as Wraith,” the Guildmaster said. “Jack, this is Dale,” the boy next to Duran, “Jane,” the girl talking to Klessan and Whisper, “and Ysolde,” he nodded to the freckled girl seated next to him. “She is proving to be quite creative in her application of Will, but I believe you may have some insight that could help Miss Ysolde in her more...extra curricular efforts.”

Jack turned a curious gaze on Ysolde. She looked down at the table and muttered something, chagrined.

“I electrocuted myself when I started using my Will outside of class,” Jack offered. She had arrived at the table already embarrassed, and the Guildmaster’s subtle admonishing hadn’t helped. The other two Apprentices hid smiles, perhaps not wanting to be caught laughing at a Hero, but Duran snorted outright. 

“I remember having to heal you after that,” the mountain man said. 

“You have a healing expression?” Dale, the Apprentice, asked in surprise.

Duran nodded. “You might be ahead of the curve in Strength, but if you neglect your Skill and Will you’ll have a bugger of a time against a weaker but more balanced opponent…”

Dale listened attentively as Duran picked up what must have been their previous thread of conversation, while Jane turned to ask Klessan about her fletching preferences.

“I turned myself blue,” Ysolde confided in Jack quietly, fiddling with a lock of dark hair. 

“How did you manage that?” Jack asked, eyebrows raised. 

“I was trying to create an expression to blend in with my surroundings,” Ysolde said. “It didn’t turn out like I had hoped.”

Jack thought for a second, considering the requirements of such an expression. “You didn’t give the expression the structure it needed, did you? Just thought of what you were standing in front of?”

Ysolde nodded, gloomy. “There was a blue curtain at my window. I had to go to the Guildmaster for help undoing it.”

Jack winced. The Guildmaster wasn’t one to coddle, especially when dealing with Apprentices breaking rules like the prohibition from practising Will without supervision. “I was lucky, I never had any problems my friends and I couldn’t deal with ourselves.”

“My friend didn’t make the cutoff for the last grading,” Ysolde said, looking down. 

Jack paused for a moment too long, unsure of what to say. “I’m sure you’ll find new friends,” he said, feeling horribly awkward. He considered patting her on the shoulder, but thought better of it. “Have you been practising any other Will expressions?”

She was interrupted in responding as the servants brought plates heaped with Shepard’s Pie, still steaming from the ovens. Goblets of Orchard Farm apple cider were placed before the Heroes, while the Apprentices were given water. 

“Some,” she said, taking up knife and fork. “I can summon fire, and ice.”

“That’s a good start,” Jack said, approving. “What can you do with them?”

Ysolde looked startled. “Uhm. Not much. I’m the most advanced in my class though,” she said, a touch defensive.

“Oh. Well, your next step...could be anything you can think of, but when I started on fire, I learned how to throw an explosive fireball, and then practised my control by making a whip out of it. I only started on ice recently, but I’ve been focusing on freezing the ground around me to disadvantage any foes.”

“Wow,” Ysolde said, meeting his eyes for the first time. “I haven’t thought of doing anything like that.”

“My mentor told me the biggest obstacle in developing your Will is your imagination,” Jack said. “You had a good idea with your chameleon expression, but it sounds like you need a more developed mental structure and a lot of focus.”

“Chameleon?” Ysolde asked.

“Reptile that takes on the colours of its surroundings,” Jack said. “I don’t think you’d ever achieve true invisibility with it, and you would have to tweak the expression every time you used it in a different environment, but it sounds like a very good idea.”

“You think true invisibility is possible?” Ysolde said, becoming more animated. “All the books I’ve read say it isn’t.”

“I know it is,” Jack said. “Maze can do it.”

“Oh,” Ysolde said, slouching. “He’s the archmage though.”

Jack frowned, washing down a spoonful of beef with some cider. “Everyone starts somewhere, right? Just because something seems impossible now, doesn’t mean it always will be.” A white mask and a red cowl crossed his mind’s eye, but he hauled his focus back to the present. 

“I guess,” she said, but her expression was considering, not dejected. 

“Just remember, every expression has to start somewhere,” he said. “I created an expression to stave off the need to sleep for a few days while I was an Apprentice, and last winter I combined it with another that sped up my perception of the world to create an expression that basically slow time.” He grinned. 

“Slows time?” Ysolde asked. “That’s impossible,” she accused.

“Well, yes, I’m not actually slowing time, but that’s what it feels like when I use the expression,” Jack said.

“That sounds like it would take a toll,” she said, taking a sip of water.

“It does,” Jack said. He paused at an explosion of noise from the closest table, waiting for the good natured boisterousness to calm. “I’m still working on it, and it isn’t something I can use in combat yet. But just because something doesn’t work out at first, it doesn’t mean it’s useless.”

“I can’t think of much use for turning myself blue,” Ysolde said doubtfully.

“Maybe not,” Jack said. “But can you turn something else blue?”

“I hadn’t thought to try,” Ysolde said. She looked at her goblet speculatively. 

“Give it a crack,” Jack said. He glanced at the other occupants of the table. They were all distracted by their conversations. “If it explodes, we’ll say I did it.”

Ysolde giggled, and placed her fingertips on her goblet. She frowned in concentration, and Jack felt her Will rising. It felt like a stagnant river stirring into motion. There was a peculiar sensation of empty space as the expression began to unfold, and the feel of something like gravity, but not, tugging at his Will channels. He concentrated on keeping his Will under control and not rushing in to fill the absence. It was almost like the the expression came with an invitation for him to add his Will to it. 

Jack put the sensation to the back of his mind to be considered later, grinning at Ysolde’s pleased smile as the wooden goblet was suddenly a deep royal blue. “Well done,” he said.

“Ah,” the Guildmaster said, drawing attention. “Very creative, Miss Ysolde.”

“There’s something the farmboy can’t do,” Whisper said, looking the goblet over. 

Jack suppressed the urge to try it himself, just to see if he could, and shrugged. “Can’t know everything. If I were you, I’d look into anchoring that expression to an object,” he suggested to Ysolde. 

“How so?” she asked. “None of the Instructors have mentioned anything about that.”

“They wouldn’t,” Jack said. “It’s usually beyond Apprentices. I came across the idea in one of Solcius’ journals; can’t remember which. It should be in the Library.”

Ysolde mulled the idea over. “Merchants would pay good coin for an object that would turn people colours if the wrong person grabbed it.”

“That’s a decent idea,” Jack said. “Don’t forget to pursue other avenues as well though.”

Klessan, meanwhile, was staring him down with narrowed eyes. “If I wake up with green hair, we’re going to have problems Jack.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I would do,” Jack said. 

“Mmhmm,” Klessan said, utterly unconvinced.

Whisper rapped her knuckles on the table, drawing their attention. “I was talking to Guildmaster about Quests that might suit us,” she said. 

“I still say Witchwood is the one for us,” Duran said. 

“What’s this?” Jack asked. Sequestering himself in his mentor’s office all afternoon had evidently left him out of the loop.

“Whisper and Duran arguing over Quests,” Klessan said. 

“I would also prefer somewhere new, but it is more than a week’s travel to Knothole Glade,” Whisper said. “We would arrive too late to make a difference. We should leave the Quest to someone who can.”

Duran made a face. “I just left the mountains. If my father gets wind of my return, it’ll take me months to get away again.”

“What are the Quests?” Jack asked. 

“Some of the smaller hamlets on Witchwood have had villagers go missing,” Klessan said. “The chief of Knothole Glade took out a Quest Card to find whoever or whatever is responsible and put an end to it.”

“And then there’s a trio of earth trolls that have planted themselves in the middle of the only road to one of the bigger lowlander settlements in the Pyrepeaks,” Duran said. “The money isn’t great, and the renown won’t be either.”

“But it will open up Quests in the future for us,” Whisper said with the air of someone repeating themselves. 

“Are there any other Quests you might recommend to us, Guildmaster?” Jack asked. 

The old man shook his head. “You have winnowed out the Quests best suited to you as a group,” he said. “Beyond that, the choice of Quest is not someone I will make for you.”

“The Pyrepeaks are the only choice,” Whisper said. “The missing villagers are like as not dead already.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t prevent more being taken,” Duran said. He took a long draw of cider.

“Without a sympathetic connection to the Cullis Gate on the island it does,” Whisper shot back. 

Klessan said something, but Jack’s mind was elsewhere, caught on Whisper’s words. He hadn’t even considered the Cullis Gate system, one of the remnants of the Old Kingdom, when Maze had given him his latest task. He was seized by the urge to leave dinner early in favour of the library. What little lore he knew concerning the Gates was turned over in his mind as he attempted to divine what Maze had meant by ‘sympathetic connection’. He couldn’t even ask Whisper about it, due to his mentor’s constraints. Doubtless she had heard tell of it from her brother.

“Jack?” Whisper asked.

“Sorry, what?” Jack asked, jerking back to the present.

“Do you have a preference?” she asked. 

“I think we don’t need to decide tonight,” Jack said. “But if we could get to Witchwood without delay, does anyone have an issue with it?”

His friends answered in the negative, but eyed him speculatively.

“Do you have a way of getting us there?” Duran asked.

Jack shrugged. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

“I’m beginning to suspect your Instructors did you a disservice by letting your experiments in Will go on without comment,” the Guildmaster said dryly. 

“I’m still alive,” Jack said, perhaps a bit cheekily.

“Yes,” the Guildmaster said, frowning slightly. He turned his gaze to the Apprentices drinking in the exchange. “This is one manner in which I would suggest you not seek to emulate your seniors.”

Jack ducked his head. He had a feeling that a reprimand from the Guildmaster would pull him up short no matter how renowned he became.

“Have we learnt anything new about the raiders who attacked the Guild?” Klessan asked, drawing attention away from Jack.

“They no longer darken our shores,” the Guildmaster said, “but I’m afraid we still don’t know how they came to find us.”

“Were any of their armours retrieved?” Duran asked, less interested in their origin now that they were apparently all dead. “Instructor Mal was saying they were animal hide, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

Jack and Whisper exchanged a brief glance; if the Guildmaster wasn’t going to make mention of the ship that had departed Albion before the Guild had dealt with the rest, they wouldn’t either. 

“A report was written, I shall make it available to you,” the Guildmaster said, leaning back in his chair.

Duran nodded his thanks, polishing the last scraps of food from his plate. 

“You were there when the attack happened, weren’t you?” Jane, the Apprentice, asked Klessan. “I heard the four of you killed most of them on your own.”

Klessan grinned, but scratched the back of her head. “I almost got impaled by a raider that got too close,” she admitted. “But Jack shanked stabbed him in the leg and I finished him off. Got a few more with my bow.”

“Jack stopped me from losing my head,” Duran added, eyes alight with mischief. “Quite literally.”

“That was after you broke their charge with that old sledgehammer of yours,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. 

“Don’t forget that blast globe that almost killed us all,” Whisper chimed in. “You made them think twice when you Willed it back at them.”

The Apprentices’ eyes darted between the Heroes, drinking the banter in like it was some epic saga. 

“And then I almost killed myself because I was a young idiot who didn’t know how to conserve my Will,” Jack said. The day his friends didn’t try to gently mock him in front of any audience was the day he knew something was terribly wrong. 

“As opposed to being an old idiot now, not even a whole six months older,” Klessan said. 

“Exactly,” Jack said. “Good thing the Guildmaster was there to pull our hides out of the fire.” He remembered the precision and power of the lightning Will expression the man had rained down on their foes. 

“I live to protect my students from more than just themselves,” Weaver said, displaying just a hint of his dry wit. “Speaking of, Master Dale, have you completed the task set to you by Instructor Han?”

Talk turned back to the Apprentices and their current studies, for which Jack was grateful. The Guildmaster directed the discussion, prompting the Heroes to share what they had learnt and allowing the Apprentices to see how what might seem like pointless or frustrating tasks would be of use when they embarked upon their careers. The hall slowly emptied, Trainees and Apprentices leaving for late night classes or to get a good night’s rest for the hardships of the following day. The high table was just finishing their desserts, another privilege of the invitation. The only other occupants were a group of Instructors lingering over a working dinner and the odd servant slowly cleaning up. The candles were burning low, and Jack was almost ready to call it a night.

At length, the youngest among them departed, carrying with them the well wishes of the Heroes they had dined with that night. To Jack’s amusement, Ysolde split off from her classmates, heading not to the dormitories, but towards the library. 

“A most productive evening,” the Guildmaster said. 

“We thank you for hosting us,” Whisper said for them.

“Not at all,” Weaver said. “The Guild is a home to you for as long as you wish it.” He rose, and they stood with him, bowing as their mentor stepped away from the table. “Now if you will excuse me, I have quite a bit of grading to do.”

“Teachers,” Klessan said, shaking her head. 

“Hmm?” Duran asked. The big man stepped away from the table, and the others followed.

“You saw him during the raid, throwing around lightning like no one’s business,” Klessan said. “But then he’s all, ‘don’t forget to do your classwork’.”

“He’s the Guildmaster,” Duran said with a shrug. They left the hall behind, empty but for the servants now.

“I think it is all teachers,” Whisper said. “The school in the Bowerstone slums; I saw the headmaster knock out a tavern lout who had been bothering his students.”

“Really?” Klessan asked, fascinated.

“Better form than some of our yearmates,” Whisper confirmed.

The Guild halls were almost empty at this hour, the Quest room closed for the day and most students attempting to get a good night’s rest. The four friends chatted idly as they walked the hallways of their youth; or rather, Jack led the way while his friends talked. It was only as they began to descend into the lesser travelled lower levels that they took note of where they walked.

“You don’t have much to say, farmboy,” Whisper said as they descended, the air cooling as they went.

“Just want to make sure we’re not overheard,” he said.

Duran and Klessan exchanged a glance; their friend was not prone to dramatics.

“Where are we headed?” Duran asked as they passed all the cold storage rooms.

“The Chamber.”

“Are we even allowed in there?” Klessan asked.

Jack shrugged.

“It is not forbidden,” Whisper said uncertainly, but the point was made moot as they came to the narrow bridge that crossed the great chasm before the Chamber of Fate.

They fell silent as they crossed, Jack leading, feeling as if they approached hallowed ground. The atmosphere was altogether different than their initiation and graduation. The stone doors opened at a touch, swinging smoothly on greased hinges.

The four crept in, padded soles still loud in the stillness of the grand chamber. Mosaics and frescos of heroic victories lined the walls, the subjects in them all long dead save four, and Scythe’s status could be argued.

Jack spared a glance for the painting depicting his mentors overcoming the previous Guild leadership, before coming to a stop before another. Harvest fields littered with corpses filled the backdrop, Heroes all. A farmer cowered at the edge of the frame, as if trying to flee the painting to escape the figure at its centre. One could not tell where its red cloak ended and the lifeblood of Heroes at its feet began, its sword driven clean through a figure in plate armour. A golden eye seemed to gleam behind a bone white mask as if it stared out at those who dared to look upon it.

“You know I found my sister in Oakvale,” Jack said, turning from the painting of the Bloody Harvest. They stood in a rough square, the others watching him. 

“You never said why you went different ways so quickly after,” Klessan said. .

“It isn’t safe to travel together,” Jack said. He glanced around the Chamber. It was empty save for themselves, but paranoia crept up his spine, he felt as if golden eyes lingered on his neck. With a thought, he built up and released a pulse of Will, lacking structure but not intent. His friends winced as the pulse passed through them, rubbing temples and shaking out tingling limbs. There were no unseen presences to spy upon their conversation, but there was an echo, or the absence of an echo that should have been there. He put it from his mind as a peculiarity of the Chamber and focused on the task at hand.

“You know who razed your home,” Duran said with a start. Through their years of training, Jack had never spoken of that night. “And you think they’re still a threat.”

“Theresa saw them before he cut out her eyes,” Jack said. He tried to detach himself, to relate the facts neutrally. He would soon as not stay silent, but he was not fool enough to think himself able to even survive a fight with that man, and he would not do his friends the disservice of making this decision for them.

“Her name is Theresa?” Whisper asked. 

Jack blinked, jolted from his sober thoughts. “Yeah. You would have gotten along; she liked to tease me too.”

“‘Likes’ to tease you,” Klessan corrected him gently.

Jack went back over his words before shrugging awkwardly.

“Who do you need to kill?” Duran interjected, coming to his rescue. 

Jack began to pace, Will bubbling to the surface in search of release. He clamped down on it. “I’m not telling you this because I expect you to help, but because even Questing with me will be dangerous.”

Klessan snorted, very unladylike. “You can go right the hell ahead and skip this part. Just get to the bit where you tell us who we’re hunting down already.”

“There’s a reason I’m--”

“Klessan is right,” Duran cut him off. “It doesn’t matter who they are. We’ll hunt them down and kill them like the fox they are.” He folded his arms, fixing Jack with a serious gaze. “You would do the same for us. Give us the name.”

Jack looked to each of his friends in turn. Duran and Klessan were expectant, but still confident. Only Whisper seemed to feel his worry. He had made a real muddle of it all; allowed them to interrupt his thoughts. His mouth set mulishly. 

“Jack of Blades.”

Whisper paled dramatically, while Klessan’s gaze flicked between them all, uncertain.

Duran frowned. “Be serious.”

Jack stared at him, not responding. 

“Is there another Jack of Blades we haven’t heard of?” Klessan asked, voice high. 

Jack shook his head.

“You’re serious,” Duran said in horrified realisation. “Jack of Blades.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this Jack,” Klessan said, “but sometimes there are enemies you just can’t fight.” She looked pained, like the words had cost her.

“You’re right, I don’t want to hear that,” Jack said without heat. “I’m still going to kill him. This is why I’m warning you of the danger of even Questing with me.”

“Skorm piss on your warnings Jack,” Klessan said. She began to pace. “Blades killed my Grannan; she was a Hero, but he never looked sideways at my Aunt or me. You don’t have to challenge him.”

“I don’t mean to challenge him on the Arena sands before a cheering crowd, Klessan,” Jack snapped. “My sister and I are going to kill him by hook or by crook and throw his curst mask into the sea.”

“Jack of Blades is not a Hero like you or me Jack,” Whisper said at last, “or even like Maze or the Guildmaster. He’s something else.”

“Damn right he’s something else,” Duran said. “Do you even know how many Heroes he killed at Bloody Harvest?”

“I’m not--! My brother fought him once, you know,” Whisper said, pensieve. 

“I’ve never heard that story,” Jack said.

“You wouldn’t have. It was this little Quest, something to fill the days. A child had been kidnapped,” Whisper told them, her manner that of repeating a story told to her. “He found the child, slew the ones who had taken her, and he was on his way to complete the Quest.” Her mouth twisted. “Jack of Blades was waiting for him on a little forest trail in the Greatwood.”

No one spoke as Whisper took a moment to collect herself.

“Blades told my brother he would let the child live if he could best him.”

“Did he?” Duran asked, voice quiet.

“What do you think?” Whisper said, chuckling mirthlessly. “He hasn’t taken a Quest involving children since. And you are never to repeat that story to anyone.”

“I’m not going to attack him tomorrow, or next month, or even next year,” Jack said. “But he destroyed my home, killed my father, my mother, and cut out my sister’s eyes and let her for dead. I am going to end him.”

Duran made a sound of pure frustration, and Klessan reached for him. “Jack--”

“I’m not asking you to fight him,” Jack said, cutting her off. “Just warning you that the day will come when I will.”

“You are more certain of that than you should be,” Whisper said.

Jack hesitated, but only for a moment. “Theresa has seen it.”

“Seen? I thought she…” Duran trailed off. 

“She has dreams. Visions,” Jack said shortly. 

Whisper glanced at him sharply, but said nothing.

“This is a lot to take in,” Klessan said. Her hands worried at a lock of her hair, a nervous habit she had long since broken herself of.

“I know,” Jack said. “I just wanted to tell you before we all committed to a Quest together.”

“Don’t be a fool, farmboy,” Whisper said. “We will not choose to abandon you because you have a powerful foe.”

“He’s a bit more than just a powerful foe, Whisper,” Klessan said dryly. “Bit late for us to go our separate ways anyway; we’ve already Quested together.”

Jack grimaced. “I only recently found out-”

“Shut up, Jack,” Duran said. He rolled his eyes. “We’ve all Quested with you. Oh, and you saved my life once, defended my clan, and spent years training with us. Might be a bit late to pretend not to know each other.”

“It’s not like I want us to go our separate ways,” Jack said, annoyed. “I just want you to be aware of the dangers.”

“We are Heroes,” Whisper said. She crossed her arms. “We didn’t choose this path because we thought it would be safe.”

“Now come on,” Duran said, stepping forward to clap Jack on the shoulder. “That’s enough serious talk for one evening. I’m knackered.”

Duran’s words broke the mood that hung over them, and Jack let out a sigh. He had done what he came down here to do. They began to filter out of the Chamber.

Whisper nudged him with her elbow. “You had better not sleep in tomorrow. We have a Quest to pick up.”

“That was one time,” Jack groused. He caught Klessan’s eye and she offered him a small smile, but said nothing. She looked to be deep in thought. 

Duran closed the stone doors behind them with a thud, returning the Chamber of Fate to stillness. The lingering remnants of their conversation faded, and it was again empty but for the tapestries of past triumphs.

X

Jack rose before dawn the next morning, eschewing a sleep in to work on the task he had been set. The months spent deepening his Will channels and increasing his control proved their worth as he sat still on the floor of Maze’s tower office, almost meditative in his focus. The pouch he had been gifted lay before him, emptied of its contents; his Will was concentrated upon it.

The first rays of the sun crept in through the stained glass windows, slowly illuminating the room. Jack paid them no heed, his mind’s eye chasing his Will down the countless pathways branching out of his Guild Seal. Carried with it was a piece of the essence that made the enchanted pouch what it was, leading the way to its source.

He knew the moment he made contact, felt it in his Will. A tendril of answering Will grasped him, revealed by the connection he had carved from the pouch. It latched onto him, the self that he had cast out along the ways, and inspected him. Jack felt like a deer before a hunter, and fought the urge to flee to the safety of his wraith form; he knew instinctively it would be of no help here. The Will presence released him, apparently satisfied, and he returned to himself in a rush. Blinking, he clambered to his feet, stretching out the stiffness in his body. The sun had well and truly risen. 

Soft white-blue light shone from the empty space behind Maze’s desk. The light receded a moment later, revealing the archmage himself. His normally fine purple robe armour was stained with travel, and he smelt of forest. His hair was lank and wet, as if he had been standing in the rain, and he sported the bristly beginnings of a beard.

Maze glanced about his office, taking in the pile of Jack’s possessions. “You didn’t spend all night on this, did you?” he said by way of greeting. 

“No sir,” Jack said. “Yesterday afternoon and this morning.”

“Well done, in that case,” the old man said. He ran his hands through his wet hair and it dried instantly. “Tell me what you’ve just achieved.”

“I used an object infused with your Will to create a sympathetic connection to your location,” Jack answered. 

“And this is helpful because…” Maze prompted.

“I can use that connection to teleport to you,” Jack said, “using the Cullis Gate system.

“No,” Maze said in a pleased tone, thoroughly confusing his student. “You could have teleported to my side, if you had a much deeper understanding of the Cullis system and had I not broken the connection you had created by moving through its veins myself.” He sank into his chair with a pleased sigh.

“So...wait,” Jack said, “what was the point of that exercise?”

“I wanted to see if you could do it,” Maze said. “Also, under certain circumstances, it is quite a useful skill.”

Jack nodded, seeing his point. He was hardly phased by the man’s teaching methods any more. 

“Did you sense the drawbacks?” Maze asked.

“I was vulnerable,” Jack said. “You could have attacked me through my Will and I wouldn’t have been able to defend myself.” He took a seat across from his mentor.

“Correct. The seeker is always disadvantaged in such cases,” Maze said. “Even more so than if another spellweaver were to catch you using an unmastered expression. Never attempt to seek out a foe in such a manner.”

Jack hadn’t even considered using it to locate his enemy, but the path was closed to him regardless. “How do I make a connection to an actual Cullis Gate then?” he asked.

“You have to approach one physically and attune yourself to it,” Maze said. “Only this connection won’t break, because, well, a Cullis Gate travelling the Cullis system would be quite the trick.”

“You called them veins,” Jack said, the phrasing jumping at him. “Why?”

“A turn of phrase,” Maze said, waving a hand in dismissal. He stopped himself and glanced back at Jack. “No, I tell a lie. The Cullis system was built on the same pathways that the Focus Sites cap.” Frustration leaked into his voice.

“Another Old Kingdom mystery?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Maze said with a frown. “If there were more Gates, it would make more sense, but they are completely irregular…”

“So there’s a pattern to them?” Jack asked. He leaned forward, always interested in discussing the Old Kingdom. “Do the Focus Sites support them, or do they feed the Sites?”

“The utter absence of a pattern, perhaps,” Maze said. He shook his head. “We can sit down and discuss this properly later. I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Of course,” Jack said. Refusal never entered his mind. “What do you need?”

“There is a defunct Focus Site, somewhere on Witchwood Island. I should like to study it, but I cannot locate the Skorm touched thing for love or money, and more pressing matters require my attention,” Maze said. “You will teleport to Witchwood, and in return you will do your best to find it.”

“I thought I had to visit a Cullis Gate physically before I could use them?” Jack asked. 

“Generally, yes,” Maze said. “But there are shortcuts.”

Jack grinned at the man. “I thought shortcuts were a temptation of Skorm.”

“Which is why this will be a one time occurrence,” Maze said shortly. “In the pursuit of knowledge, a most worthy endeavor.”

“And so you don’t have to spend any longer hiking through forests in the rain?” Jack asked knowingly. His mentor had tidied himself up some, but he still smelt of wilderness.

Maze’s mouth twitched upwards. “Quite. Now, before I send you off beyond the shores of Albion, you shall learn on a rather shorter jump. Take my hand.”

Jack grasped his mentor’s forearm, and white light overcame him. When his vision cleared, they were elsewhere. Quick reflexes and a honed body kept him from landing on his arse, suddenly no longer supported by the chair he had left behind.

“Do keep in mind such changes when translocating,” Maze said, face stern.

Jack knew the man, however, and could see the amusement peeking through. He pulled a face, and took in their new surrounds.

They were still in the Guild, his improved sense of Will told him that much. The stone walls held no windows and only a single exit, but the chill of the lower levels was missing. The only illumination came from the glow of the Cullis Gate that dominated the centre of the room. Rings of soft blue light drifted up from the circular pedestal that was its base.

The young Hero squinted at the stone pedestal. It was almost entirely obscured by the light it gave off, but he swore he could see runes carved around its edge.

“I need to make a connection with it the same way I did with you through your Will?” Jack checked. 

Maze nodded, but offered no further guidance. He leaned against a wall, arms crossed, as if settling in to wait.

Jack closed his eyes, and reached out with his Will. He did his best to ignore the hum and familiar presence of the Guild itself, focusing instead on the condensed presence of the Cullis Gate before him. To his surprise it reached back, meeting his Will; not with thought of its own, but like parched earth drinking in the rain. He blinked, now very aware of the Gate, like it had been concealed by the background from a sense he didn’t quite know how to describe.

“I’ve got it,” Jack said. Scant moments had passed.

Maze’s brow raised, infinitesimally. “As you say.” He approached and took Jack’s shoulder, and a heartbeat later they were back in his office. “Now take yourself back.” He disappeared in a corona of light.

Jack scowled. That was brusque, even for his mentor. He reached out with his Will, pushing the ‘noise’ of the Guild to the side, and sought the signature of the Gate, taking it into himself. From there, he supposed he would--his Will turned in on himself, and he forced himself not to panic. White light suffused his sight. When it cleared, he stood once more in the Cullis chamber, this time on the pedestal itself. 

Maze was watching him, brows well and truly raised. “I am impressed,” he said, putting Jack further off balance. “I have never seen such swift success.”

Jack shook his head, as if to clear it. Maze now not one to be free with praise. “I’ve no idea what I just did,” he said. “I tuned my Will to the gate, and the expression happend on its own.”

Maze nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “You synchronised your Will to the Gate, and the system ferried you here. And with perfect accuracy.”

“Accuracy?” Jack asked. He was beginning to feel out of his depth. 

Maze took his shoulder and they stood once more in his office. He gestured for him to take a seat as he retrieved the foreign juice he so favoured from his drinks cabinet. Jack sat as his mentor poured.

“The more in tune you are with the Gate, the better your connection, the closer you will appear to it,” Maze said, falling into a lecturing tone. “It is not uncommon for over eager students to find themselves in the middle of an unknown wilderness.”

“So I could have ended up in the frozen north in my shirt and trousers if I’d gotten it wrong.”

“I would have retrieved you,” Maze said with a shrug. “Now, how do you suppose I can teleport to my office given what I’ve told you?”

“Deliberate inaccuracy?” Jack guessed.

“No,” Maze said. “Familiarity, and triangulation.”

Jack’s eyes lit up with realisation. “You’re attuned to other Gates. Many others.”

“Correct. Despite the ease of your initial success, I’ll ask you not to experiment in such a manner until you’ve created connections with a several more Gates.”

Jack shrugged, accepting the restriction easily. Maze had never steered him wrong. “Are you going to take me to the Witchwood Gate?”

Distaste crossed Maze’s face. “I’ve seen enough of that island for the time being. When you are ready, I will send you on your way.”

“Is there a limit to how many you can send?” Jack asked.

“Not as such. Why?”

“My friends and I were going to take a Quest to find some missing villagers there,” Jack explained.

“Ah yes, I had heard about that business,” Maze said. “There was no talk of appealing to the Guild for help, but that was before my sojourn in the woods.” He scratched his chin. “It is rare for the island to suffer from any banditry. Too inhospitable, and the locals take a rather dim view of it.”

“Whatever it is, we can handle it,” Jack said.

“Undoubtedly,” Maze said. “Now, tell me about your victory over Twinblade. You certainly drew some attention with that feat.”

“Defeating him wasn’t even the best part,” Jack said, eager to share his good news. “I found my sister, alive and well.”

Maze choked, juice expelled from his nose as he pounded his chest. “You what?!”

Jack smirked at his mentor, like a fox in a henhouse. He had never elicited such a reaction from the man. “She was rescued by bandits, and had been living with them as a seeress.”

Maze stared at him for long moments, almost uncomprehending. “Good Avo. I would never have-” he cut himself off. “I’m well pleased for you, Jack.” He held out his glass toward him.

Jack clinked his glass to Maze’s, smiling widely. He was expanding his Will, he was about to embark on a Quest with his closest friends, and his mentor was proud of him. Life was good.

“A bandit seeress,” Maze muttered to himself. “Of all the things…”

“She did what she had to to survive,” Jack said, defensive.

“Oh, I don’t question that,” Maze said. “Has she spoken of her visions to you?”

“Not in detail,” Jack shook his head. “Why?”

“It’s a rare gift. I should like to speak to her about it.”

“We went our separate ways some weeks ago,” Jack said. “I’m not sure where she is at present.”

“Good, good,” Maze said. His gaze was miles away.

“I could arrange a meeting,” Jack offered. They had split, but not without forethought.

“No,” Maze waved him off. “Don’t trouble yourself. We both have enough to do, in the short term.”

Jack shrugged. If Maze wanted him to know what occupied his thoughts, the man would tell him. He drained his glass. “I should tell the others we have a way to Witchwood.” 

“Yes, of course,” Maze said. “Come see me when you’re ready to depart.”

Jack rose and made tor the staircase, leaving his mentor to his thoughts.

X

With transport arranged, the decision to Quest on Witchwood over the Pyrepeaks was an easy one. By mid morning the four Heroes had split to gather what supplies they would need. Brute had been left to haunt the entrance to the kitchens, greeting every passing servant with mopey eyes and a feeble wag of his tail as they prepared lunch.

FOrewarned to the weather on the island through Maze, Jack made for the store that the Guild maintained within its main building, coin purse heavy on his belt. The hardy clothes issued to him by the Guild had just about reached their limit, and it was time they were replaced. 

The bald shopkeeper was occupied over by a row of armour mannequins with another customer when he arrived, and it seemed Jack wasn’t the only one of his group to consider his attire. Klessan was haggling over a pair of leather boots, topped by fur. 

“You’re not selling a corset to the Lady Grey here,” Klessan was saying.

“If word got back to the craftsmen who made these that I let them go for the price you’re asking I could never face him again,” the shopkeeper declared, hand over his heart.

Jack left them to it, well aware of Klessan’s stubborn streak. He set about his appointed task, replacing the gorget he had lost facing Twinblade and restocking what consumables he carried. A pile accumulated on the shop counter as the prices made apparent to him just how fortunate he had been in his Quest rewards. His boots weren’t quite worn through, but he replaced them with a pair similar to the ones Klessan was haggling over. The chipped iron bracers he had purchased in Bowerstone only last Autumn were upgraded to a set of chill obsidian, the volcanic glass drinking in the light. He was deciding between a pair of oiled canvas cloaks when he was interrupted. 

“You don’t want something boring like them, Jack,” Klessan said, expression impish. “This is the one you want.”

Jack blinked at the cloak she held out to him. Rich purple, its hems were intricately embroidered with golden threads. It offered little protection from the elements, and would be ruined by the first skirmish it came within spitting distance of. His nose turned up at the offending item. “What in Skorm’s name is that?”

“It gets better,” Klessan exclaimed. She turned it about, displaying its back--as well as the fanciful dragon sewn into it.

The younger Hero groaned and closed his eyes to Klessan’s snorts. “There’s a reason I avoided that section,” he said. He took the canvas coat with the deeper pockets and made for the counter.

“I know, isn’t it awful?” Klessan said. She draped it back over the display it came from. “Can you believe Heroes actually buy these things?”

“I think Maze would set it alight on sight,” Jack said as they approached the shopkeeper, who smiled blindingly as he began to tally Jack’s purchases. “While I was still wearing it,” he added.

“Big spender,” Klessan said, taking in his choices.

“Duran and I did well on our first Quest, and Oakvale was very thankful,” he said, beginning to count out coins. 

Klessan narrowed her eyes at him. “Aren’t you going to haggle?” she demanded.

Jack hesitated, noting that Klessan held the boots she had argued for in one hand. He glanced to the shopkeeper, and the man’s smile became decidedly more fixed. “I don’t really need to…”

The brunette made a dismissive noise. “I’ll take care of it then,” she said. Her eyes betrayed her enjoyment of the situation. “Now, these boots are of the same make as mine, so they should only be a few silvers more, and these potions…”

Jack hid a smile as the shopkeeper grimaced and set his shoulders like a man going to battle. 

X

Jack licked crumbs from his fingers, the remnants of a meat pasty. Lunch was in full swing, but he and his companions stood in the Guild courtyard, waiting for Maze to descend from his tower and send them on their way. The girls had eaten their fill already, while Duran tore strips off a leg of lamb with his teeth. Brute watched with slavering jaws, eyes fixed on the bone he knew was his.

The sun beat down from its zenith. Clad as they were for the stormy weather of Witchwood Island, they were soon sweating, even in the shade. Wiping his forehead with a gloved hand, Jack grimaced and flexed his Will. A heavy swirl of frost blew out from him, carried on a chill wind. Brute licked his chops clean of the snow that dusted them, tail wagging, while Whisper scooped a handful from her shoulder and smeared it across her face. 

Footsteps echoed down the nearby tower stairs at last, announcing Maze’s approach. He looked them over, dressed for travel and ready to go, and gave them a nod.

“Ready?” the archmage asked. “You will arrive at the gates of Knothole Glade.”

Duran tossed the remnants of his lunch to Brute, who caught the bone but remained at attention, imitating his master. The four Heroes exchanged a glance.

“Ready,” Jack answered for them.

“Avo guide you then,” Maze said. He raised a hand, runes on his brow glowing.

Jack gelt his mentor’s Will settle around them, and the familiar light of teleportation took them. It cleared only moments later, and they stood in a wide clearing, rain pouring down on them. Tall log gates greeted them, sharpened at the top and almost as tall as the Guild walls. Guard towers rose at either side, and torches burned brightly along the surrounding walls. 

The defences of the town weren’t what drew their attention, however. Their focus was on the balverine chewing on the thigh of a very human leg. Nearby, three more were munching on corpses in various states of dismemberment. One of them was sucking the marrow from a bone too small to be anything but a child’s. 

Brute dropped his bone and growled, low and deep, and the balverines’ heads swivelled to them as one. The biggest loosed a growl of its own. Brute fell silent, ears flat against his skull.

Jack drew his sword. It snarled in tune with its wielder, chill enough to strike fear into the most hardened of men. The balverine quieted, but rose to its feet, abandoning its meal. Klessan shook her whip out, Duran and Whisper already bearing hammer and staff.

A bell began to toll within the town, and the balverines lunged for them.


End file.
